


Tulips A Hue Of Red

by softhuangs (yoonooh)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Royalty, Sexual Content, but not exactly sad ending??, general yuta, idk how to tag w/o spoiling, period fic, prince jaehyun, so please proceed with outmost caution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23649928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoonooh/pseuds/softhuangs
Summary: When they part from the kiss, his heart stutters at the intensity in Yuta’s eyes. Yuta’s gaze is steadfast and warm as molten lava. Jaehyun burns himself trying to reach him.Yuta’s silver armor is pristine and refined. On his face, he wears a smile, rare and precious. To Jaehyun, Yuta’s existence is divine—an exceptional blessing.“Oh First General, what I’m entranced by you. I think I’m completely bewitched.”Even the way Yuta’s eyes widen at the words sends butterflies tumbling in Jaehyun’s stomach.
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 17
Kudos: 60





	Tulips A Hue Of Red

**Author's Note:**

> please read tags and proceed with outmost caution!
> 
> a part of this was inspired by the chinese danmei novel tgcf (but without The Magical Jazz). also there’s one line taken from ashes of love
> 
> the military hierarchy in this fic is not according to real history. for this fic, i made it like this: first general > normal general > colonel > captain > soldier (yuta is the first general)
> 
> i..may have a thing for describing eyes i feel like 5k of this is just _eyes gaze eyes_ also the narration is pretty much linear except for 2-3 scenes

**PART 1. 鬱金香**

Dawn brings with it incessant light beams escaping in through the windows, slowly but steadily drawing Jaehyun out of his now obscure dream. On habit, he reaches out one hand with both eyes closed but the presence next to him is gone, leaving behind a warmth that has yet to dissipate together with the darkness.

In an instance, Jaehyun is wide awake, heaving himself up into a sitting position at the same time as the other person in the chamber, who is fully clad in his usual armor and ready to go out, starts to move towards the door.

“Yuta,” Jaehyun calls out.

The one being called pauses for a moment before he turns towards the bed. From his line of sight, he can see the Crown Prince’s bare upper body littered with bite marks and bruises—a sound reminder of the long night they spent. Further down, past his chest, Yuta knows there are even more blue and purple blooming beautifully on Jaehyun’s skin but hidden underneath the blanket pooled around him. With the early sun shining on him through the open window, Jaehyun looks ethereal, his hair mussed and rosy lips parted. His eyes yet muddled with a hint of sleep stare at him, wordlessly begging him to stay for one more second and honestly, Yuta finds himself unable to deny him anything.

“Your Highness,” Yuta heaves a sigh, walking over to the bed and leaning down to give the other a chaste kiss. “The sun’s up. I have to get back.”

And yet, he lingers against Jaehyun’s lips.

In lieu of a verbal response, Jaehyun answers with a low whine reverberating in his throat as he winds his arms around the other’s neck, bringing him in even closer and latching onto his lips greedily. Without a word, Yuta places his now forgotten sword on the bed and instead places his hands on his lover’s waist, thumbs circling the bare skin. When they part, the hazy look in Jaehyun’s eyes is almost enough for Yuta to be willing to risk everything to stay in with him.

With a warm smile bringing dawn breaking through the horizon, the Crown Prince cups his cheek with one hand and pecks it once.

He says, “Wait here for a moment.”

Wordlessly, Yuta watches the other hastily throw on his inner robe and disappear into the adjacent chamber. The next time Jaehyun reemerges, there is a flower in his hand. It looks fresh, tip dripping with water as if it was dipped in a vase only moments ago and although the royal garden is admittedly home to the most exquisite and rare flowers the Kingdom of Jingqi has had to honor to own, Yuta is sure it is his first time witnessing such a peculiar flower.

“It’s called a tulip,” Jaehyun explains, tender eyes tracing invisible patterns along the stem. “This type of flowers grows neither here nor in the neighboring kingdoms. I happen to know a famous merchant who travels across continents to seek treasures and this is one of the rarities he were able to get his hands on.”

The tulip is a bright crimson hue which contrasts the vibrant green shade that makes up its stalk and leaves. The petals are closed up, not yet in bloom. In an encouraging gesture, the prince reaches out his hand—the one with the flower—towards Yuta. Immediately, surprise colors Yuta’s face to which Jaehyun heartily laughs, eyes crinkled into crescents of pure amusement.

“Your Highness?” Yuta asks, voice quiet in disbelief.

“Take it,” Jaehyun simply says. “It’s a gift.”

A moment goes by; neither of them attempts another word. Yuta does not quite understand.

“If it’s that rare, then it must have been expensive. I can’t possibly take it—”

Jaehyun’s eyebrows are knitted together when he purses his lips. “Yuta, how much it cost isn’t a matter. If it’s a gift, then I want you to accept it.”

Yuta does not move a finger, giving rise to a pout on the other’s face. Jaehyun speaks again, “My love, you’re making me upset.”

Yuta shakes his head with a sigh. “Jaehyun, I’m not sure if it’s my place to accept such a—”

Losing his last straw of patience, Jaehyun takes one of Yuta’s wrist and forces the flower into his hand, adamantly watching until Yuta’s fingers reluctantly close around the stem. When Jaehyun looks up, Yuta’s eyes are waves crashing against shore, millions of emotions bubbling up to the surface, breaking through. The Crown Prince smiles gently, leaning in to place a kiss on his lips.

“Why this flower, though?” Yuta asks with his eyes not leaving the strange red flower. He gently lays his free hand on Jaehyun’s waist, pulling him in against his chest.

“It fits you well,” Jaehyun says, head leaned down onto his shoulder. “You’re beautiful even when your face is smeared with blood. Your touch is a gentleness over and beyond, although with these same hands, you wield a sword with thousand of blood debts. You serve under a ruthless Emperor but you carry with you an unmatched sense of righteousness and justice for all individuals alike.”

Yuta’s fingers tighten their grip on Jaehyun’s waist. The glint in the Crown Prince’s eyes seems to glow even brighter.

“You are your own contradiction, First General, in the same way this flower looks fragile but won’t wither even when drenched in blood.”

There comes a time when Yuta has to walk out of there, leaving behind him in the empty bed chamber a lonely Crown Prince with his inner robe fluttering in the air and coal-black hair hung low on his back. But before that time arrives, Yuta kisses him for the very last of last times. His free hand comes up to press onto Jaehyun’s nape, making the other whimper before his legs buckle. Lastly, Yuta places a peck on each of Jaehyun’s eyelids, making a pleased smile bloom on the prince’s lips—one that mirrors that of his own.

After having tried his best to withstand the temptation to stay, Yuta stands by the open window, hesitant to leave the other alone.

At the sound of metal clanging, he turns his head to see Jaehyun fixate his sword by his waist for him.

“I’m sorry,” Jaehyun apologizes, patting the sword with care. “Eunuch Lee is outside my palace this morning. You know how mouthy he can be and I don’t want you to be the subject of his gossip today. It’s better to go out through the window.”

Yuta reaches out his free hand and Jaehyun meets him halfway, hand sliding into his naturally. Their fingers slot together with ease like a perfect match. Holding up Jaehyun’s hand, Yuta proceeds to kiss the knuckles. He does it tenderly and slowly. Somewhere along the way, he thinks he has gotten used to the warm sensation taking root and about to bloom in his chest.

“I swear,” Yuta begins, eyes staring in awe at the vision in front of him. “I swear, Your Highness, to protect you with my whole life.”

Thereafter, he is gone, back to his life and to his duties. And if he holds onto the tulip a little tighter, already missing a familiar laughter resonating in his ears, then no one shall know.  
  


☆

The Kingdom of Jingqi holds an irrefutable reputation for its long-lasting wealth and prosperity throughout generations. Daily, ten thousands of people—merchants and buyers alike—pass through the various markets and the flourishing shops that align the busy streets of its capital. There, in the middle of the thriving city and situated in the heart of Jingqi, a palace stands high and mighty.

What it lacks in height, it makes up in area. Rumors say that walking from the West gate to the East one takes half an hour. The numerous gardens are planted with rare flowers and unseen trees with golden pavilions looking out over clear lakes where golden koi fishes gather to play underneath the transparent layer. Day in day out, servants can be seen arriving from one place and hurrying to another, their feet never getting an ounce of rest. The birds chirp happily in the far distance, a crisp melody traveling across rooftops above the palace buildings.

Behind the palace gate, there are two infamous individuals.

One is, which goes without saying, the Emperor. Leaving behind a trail of blood in his wake, he is a ruler who had managed to merge segregated tribes and towns in the outskirts of Jingqi with the capital after years of war and discord. Through the sacrifice of countless lives to incite fear and thus, make the inhabitants agree to assimilation, that was how the Emperor had managed to withhold peace within Jingqi for so long. There is an underlying tyranny that rocks unstably under the peaceful atmosphere. In return for an empty promise of protection, he was given steadfast loyalty.

Moreover, he had once helped the neighboring kingdom—Fengzi—suppress its prevailing political tension through subsidiaries and military power before chaos could break out and cause an eventual collapse of the current ruler. They called it a great feat. No one doubted that perhaps his deeds—whether well-intended or not—are going to be written down and spoken about for many years to come.

The other one, however, is unexpectedly not a royal descent. And yet his name, or rather his title, is widespread throughout Jingqi.

Every kingdom has its own First General who is someone extremely skilled in martial arts and sword fighting. Furthermore, that someone has to be capable of standing undefeated against hundreds of soldiers in order to be able to protect their kingdom until the very end. The Kingdom of Jingqi has a particularly acclaimed and memorable First General. Born into poverty and raised in a dilapidated house in an almost forgotten rural village, no one had expected a tiny, scrawny kid like him would come to be where he is today.

In a time where customs are followed religiously, a soldier is supposed to be an occupation inherited from father to son. A colonel bears another colonel; a retired general’s position is taken over by his offspring. And yet with no military history in the family, he had insisted on taking the military exam anyways and come out on top, position unchallenged.

Rumors say that in his first battle as a colonel, he had single-handedly with his troop stopped a greater part of a nomad tribe from invading Jingqi with a minimal amount of losses on Jingqi’s side. From then on, he had turned into a spoken legend, his own feet taking him higher up the ladder until he became the current First General of Jingqi. No matter what they say about his background, they cannot disagree on the fact that he has rightfully earned his title.

His sword has inarguably taken a lot of lives but it has also spared equally as many. Jaehyun would rather call him benevolent than heartless, humane rather than cold-blooded, if anyone were to ask him. Whether it is a neutral judgement or one based on pure fascination, however, is another matter.

Along the stone path that curves around the largest koi pond in the palace, an entourage walks in one direction and a lone person walks in the opposite with the distance between them gradually growing smaller. The Emperor, together with his guards and servants who closely follow him from behind, walks in leisure steps. From afar, a young man clad in silver armor with hair loosely tied up in a high ponytail and sword held firmly in one hand approaches the entourage with unhurried yet determined steps. There is a furrow growing deep in between the man’s eyebrows. Even Jaehyun thinks he can see it standing by himself on the other side of the pond, eyes trained on the two parties across the water.

At last, the man—Yuta—comes to an abrupt stop in front of the Emperor. He does a proper bow but his eyes are defiance, bright as the sunshine beating down on them.

“Your Majesty,” Yuta greets.

It seems as though the Emperor knows why the man has seeked him out today. The disdainful expression on his face grows more grim, more grey. He answers curtly, “First General.”

Yuta ignores the darkness that looms over the Emperor’s features. “May this lowly one be bold this once and speak my mind?”

The water ripples in rhythm across the pond. Jaehyun does not know how to take in the beauty of the man whom he is currently looking at; he only knows how to stare unabashedly.

Everyone behind the Emperor keeps their gazes downward and pretends to not be listening. Meanwhile, the Emperor pins Yuta down with a burning look that he then withdraws and proceeds to flip his huge sleeve behind his back to show his disapproval. Yet, he motions for the other to continue.

“I know,” Yuta begins, “that you’ve given me the order to subdue the town inhabitants who caused the recent havoc in the capital, but I’m afraid that I cannot obey you this one time, your Majesty.”

The Emperor smiles. It is an empty, cold one. “I said to keep them under control so they don’t start another mayhem again, not to kill them off.”

“But you had meant to eliminate them if necessary, right? If they refuse to compromise or stop, what would you do? Isn’t your next order then to wipe them off completely?”

Fire rages in both their eyes. Neither wants to back off, to be engulfed by the other’s flames.

“Your Majesty,” Yuta doesn’t sound angry, but rather wronged. “They’re the people of Jingqi, not worthless insects that you could eliminate once they start being a headache.”

The other sneers. “If they knew how to act in Jingqi’s best interest then they shouldn’t have come to the capital to start chaos in the first place. I have to snipe the root before it grows. It is for the better good of this kingdom.”

For a moment, it seems as though Yuta lurches forward slightly, his knuckles turned pale in a tight grip. In return, the soldiers standing behind the Emperor immediately hold up their swords, prepared to act if Yuta even moves one foot closer. The fact that Yuta is the highest figure in the royal army right now does not matter.

In his chest, Jaehyun’s heart beats loudly as he holds an inhale, waiting for the tension to dissipate. It does not, not that easily. However, Yuta does not attempt anything and soon, he relaxes his posture again.

“Your Majesty, do you know why those people did that? It’s because they have been starving and tired and disappointed for too long. When they have reached that point, pride and respect aren’t part of their integrity anymore. Perhaps, they just wanted you—the Emperor—to be aware what they’re going through. I don’t see anything particularly wrong with that.”

“You!!!” An eunuch in the entourage lets out an indignant hiss, face red.

However, the Emperor barely reacts, cold smile frozen on his lips. He says, “First General, you’re so insistent on me forgiving those subjects despite their wrongdoings. I wonder if it is because you, as a child, also felt the same injustice as them. Perhaps you’re speaking from personal experience?”

This time, Yuta has neither an agreement nor a denial. Instead, he holds his head low, waiting for the moment to pass by, swallowing down words. Then he says, “Your Majesty, I beg you to reconsider.”

“Then what do you suggest that I, as the Emperor of Jingqi, should do?”

The question is two parts asking, eight parts mocking, but Yuta does not care.

“I believe that if we want to be treated with kindness,” he answers, “then we need to treat others the same way. Therefore, I believe that if your Majesty is willing to grant those subjects enough food to get through this tough time then I can assure you, the chaos, it won’t happen a second time.”

The smile on the Emperor’s face grows more taunting. It seems as though he purposely lets several dragging minutes pass by, draining the color on Yuta’s face white.

“Very well,” he says before presuming his walk, passing by Yuta with not so much as one last nod towards him.

Over on his side, Jaehyun watches the entourage disappear through a gate, his eyes flickering back to the lone general now deep in his thoughts. The man reflected in Jaehyun’s pupils is broad shoulders and slim legs. He holds unyielding eyes and a heart greater than Jaehyun has ever known. The wind passes by in a fleeting moment, blowing up a whirlwind of invisible dust scattering in the air. Somehow, Yuta’s eyes grow mellow in the afternoon sun across the span of water that holds them apart. His hair flutters with the light breeze, ponytail swaying back and forth.

Jaehyun remembers the first time he paid attention to Yuta. The memory is fresh as ever in his head—an image that is imprinted, forever to stay.

That day, the royal army was returning from a war, soldiers battered and covered from head to toe in blood. A sense of sluggishness and fatigue hangs in their vicinity. Jaehyun remembers that he had snuck close to the main palace gate and hid himself from afar to watch one soldier after another trudge in through the threshold. Their faces were rough and yet their shoulders were held high. It was in joy. It was victory. After the arriving wave had died down, he was almost about to walk away until he saw a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision.

Past the gate, a young man took steady, quick steps inside. His face was barely visible under the blood, his black hair a shade of darkened crimson and yet, he still looked stunning under the grim and the dirt. In his embrace, he held a sleeping little girl with clothes made of rags. The way he had ordered for the child to be taken to the infirmary immediately had sent warmth spreading throughout Jaehyun’s body. Even the way the man’s eyes were resolute—an immovable force—despite the palace servants’ horrid exclamations that the child was a survivor from the enemy nomad tribe that Jingqi was supposed to extinguish—Jaehyun never forgot about it. He knew, from then on, that this person was not someone he could only look at once and never again.

Back then, Yuta was only a colonel. Even now with the ever passage of time, even after he had become the admired First General, his kindness and persistence remain unfaltered, unstained.

After a long time, Yuta returns to reality and he walks away from the pond, not having noticed eyes following him from far away ever since the very beginning. It is the same, then or now. Jaehyun remains where he is, gaze trailing after a figure slowly fading away in the distance.  
  


☆

Once every year, Jaehyun visits a new town in Jingqi. It used to be something he was forced to do when he was younger because according to the royal advisor, doing it would make him look favorable in the subjects’ eyes. It was already necessary to earn trust, even as a young child who knew nothing. Of course, back then with naivety evident in his eyes, Jaehyun caused more trouble than peace, always running away and causing the eunuchs to grow grey hair under a few hours.

For someone who lives in solitude most of the time, Jaehyun could never think twice about the eunuchs’ desperate pleas and the Emperor’s stern gaze once he were to find out. He always chose freedom.

Right now, Jaehyun is no longer a little kid who did not know the weight of his title. Lost is the little freedom he once owned, lost to time. The older he became, the more he understood the importance of actually playing the part of the Crown Prince he is. Therefore, the cheerful child who always managed to break away from the entourage with skiddy steps was long gone, replaced by a young prince forced to grow into reality too soon. Yet, he never stopped going on his yearly journey, something akin to pertinacity grown taunt on his features. This time, however, he does not do it for the sake of earning favor; it is for the sake of this kingdom.

He wants to be able to do something, even if it is near to nothing.

With an air of nervosity and anticipation, Jaehyun rides up to the row of royal guards and eunuchs waiting for him on their horses by the main gate. Right in front is a figure that he has never seen before during his previous trips.

The man adorns his usual silver armor over a black outfit with hair tied up in a ponytail. His sword, silvers flowers running across black hilt, is hung loosely by his waist. The moment Jaehyun reaches the front, their gazes meet—four eyes blinking at one another. Jaehyun musters a smile at the same time as Yuta nods politely.

“Your Highness,” he greets, voice a mellow timbre. His hazel eyes turn amber under the harsh sun. His features are sharp edges, cutting across his mild expression. Jaehyun swallows quickly, steering his horse to face forward so he does not get caught staring for too long.

“First General,” Jaehyun returns the greeting. He finds himself looking at Yuta again but quickly averts his gaze. “It’s really nice to have you join me today. Though wouldn’t it be, you know, too counterproductive for you to follow me?”

Yuta fixes him with a look that tells him he is not following. Pretending to check his reins, Jaehyun shrugs. “I mean, you’re the First General. Keeping an eye on me isn’t part of your duties, right? I’m sure there are more urgent matters to take care of.”

Despite his words, Jaehyun bites his lips anyways, hopeful. When he looks up, the other is staring at him with his hair flying with the wind. The morning is yet early but Jaehyun feels burned out from one single look.

“Your Highness,” Yuta says after a silence in contemplation. “There are currently no urgent military matters to take care of today—”

Jaehyun's lips secretly purse into a pout. Not the answer he was expecting.

“—and protecting you is actually one of my duties. I have always missed the chance to join you during the previous years because an emergency came up each time. Please forgive me for my negligence.”

The look in Yuta’s eyes illuminated under the sun rays is sincere. Somewhere in Jaehyun’s chest, a flame flickers in the darkest place. He reaches out a hand, holding onto Yuta’s arm for a brief second before letting go. There is an everlasting smile on his face, tiny enough to betray the emotions raging within his mind.

“There’s no need to apologize, First General.”

And then he gestures to the entourage waiting behind him. “Let’s depart, shall we?”

The ride this year takes the whole morning. The nearer they come, the more inhabitants they are met with. Most of them look awfully gaunt and emaciated, yellow skin hugging bones. Their clothes gradually turn more simple and more worn out. By the time they finally reach the heart of the town, Jaehyun’s hands cannot stop shaking.

The protection the Emperor was supposed to bestow on these subjects is nowhere to be seen; left is a suffering that is visible miles away. Starvation fuels the outrage in their eyes as they stare at the passing entourage. Even with one glance, one can tell that the one riding in the very front—a young, handsome man dressed in white outer robes with golden hems and silver ornaments in his hair—does not belong in this miserable place. His pristine white shoes do not even seem to know how to walk on the dirt that covers this whole town.

Jaehyun rides in complete silence with the sound of hooves grinding against rough path heavy in his ears. In his peripheral vision, he sees glares on either side, and his hands continue to shake in indescribable sorrow.

In this moment, although everyone present is an inhabitant of the Kingdom of Jingqi, they are standing worlds apart with an infinite abyss between them. Perhaps the distance would never be able to be shortened, but Jaehyun understands that he cannot forever stay on his own side, content with the life he has always known.

Without a word, Jaehyun pulls hard on his reins. The horse quickly skids to a stop and to his right, Yuta does the same. Jaehyun can only stare at the figure sitting on the ground to his left, his stomach clenching in pain. Swiftly, he dismounts the horse, ignoring the sharp inhale from the one next to him.

“Your Highness—” Yuta tries before he soon realizes that nothing can stop the prince from jumping off.

If it were back then the eunuchs riding behind him would have started to move already in an attempt to hold the young prince from escaping; but this is no longer the past, and so, they wordlessly stay put on their horses as they watch the Crown Prince approach the little child sitting by the road.

Covered in dirt from head to toe, this child looks like she has been rolling around on the bare ground for the whole day, except that Jaehyun knows she has not. She has simply gone without a bath and clean clothes to wear for too long. Even the dirt, however, cannot hide the emaciated lines aligning her face where her cheeks are sunken in. She stares at Jaehyun but there is not even a light in those hollow eyes. The child-like innocence has long since been extinguished by the grim reality. She sits on the ground, a lost soul abandoned.

The worse thing for Jaehyun, perhaps, is the knowledge that this little girl is not alone in her suffering. Without a hint of hesitation, he bends down and caresses the child’s head tenderly, his eyes mellow when they take in the red rashes coming from insect bites and grasses on her skin. And then, he embraces the child wholly. Behind him, he hears several people yelling out for him at the same time but Jaehyun only closes his eyes. Someone is trembling within the hug, and he is pretty sure it is not the kid.

“I’m sorry,” he says to no one in particular. The child is pliant in his hold, not speaking. “I’m sorry.”

He thinks back to a time when he had lived, ignorant of everything.

And even now, even when he has learned, he hates himself even more for being so powerless, undeserving of the almighty title linked to his name.

After a while, he leans back with a smile on his lips. He says, “I have some food. Do you want it?”

Movement stiff yet face twitching in mild surprise, the child slowly nods. Jaehyun turns around, about to dig out the food packed in his personal bag that is hung on his horse when he is met with a figure looming over him. His eyes travel up familiar dark clothes, past a silver armor, before settling on a familiar face.

Yuta stares at them, his face not betraying his thoughts, but there is something akin to hopelessness and understanding in those eyes. His hand reaches into own bag, taking out a white bun and an apple. Jaehyun’s gaze flickers reluctantly between Yuta’s hand and his face a few times before he receives the food gratefully.

Jaehyun watches the child meticulously chew on the bun, sensing Yuta squat down right beside him with his eyes also trained on her. In this moment, they are alone as if there is no one there except for the three of them, as if the others in the entourage are not looking in their direction with mild curiosity but not helping, as if the town inhabitants are not harshly whispering to one another, some in wonder some in spite.

“Do you have water with you?”

Jaehyun turns to Yuta who answers him by producing out a small ceramic bottle from his bag. With a radiant, satisfied smile, Jaehyun accepts the bottle and uncaps it. When he offers the kid the water, he thinks he can feel intense eyes on him and not looking away. Jaehyun blinks and pretends to not having noticed.

After today, when he returns, he knows that he will report to the Emperor about the current situation. He also knows that the Emperor will disregard the matter no matter how much Jaehyun begs, because the man himself has been ruling Jingqi for decades without fail so why would he suddenly change his mind and become generous towards a town already ruined from his negligence? But even so, Jaehyun will insist with all his might, pain and anger flaring in his eyes and bouncing off an impenetrable wall that is the Emperor.

He knows that once he shuts his eyes at night, he will revisit the image of that particular child in rags by the side of the road with eyes soulless and stomach empty and then, he won’t be able to close his eyes again for the rest of the night.

But for now, looking at the kid slowly gaining a hint of life in her movements, Jaehyun thrives on the false sense of hope he indulges himself. For now, he allows himself to be stupidly spirited, burning a white flame under the close scrutiny of the man wearing armor next to him.  
  


☆

Time dulls the brightest of colors, waning beauty into dust.

By the bed he sits, mindlessly letting his gaze wander along the gradually showing wrinkles on her hands. The first sign of life withering—a reminder that time runs, and that it never looks back.

Yet, he thinks that her elegance and grace are to last for a lifetime.

Even when the years start to show on her features and even in sickness, the Empress cannot hide the beauty she was blessed with behind a handkerchief. Her pale complexion cannot conceal the defiant glow in her eyes, a persistent twinkle. Jaehyun knows that time waits for no one, but in his eyes, his mother shall forever stay stunning even when someday her skin turns rough and her hair grey.

The Empress sits up in her bed with the blanket pooled around her. The whiteness of her sleeping robe highly highlights her bleak face and her protruding cheeks. She stares at her son moving around with a mellow gaze. There is an almost unnoticeable wrinkle appearing under her eyes.

For him, she is summer, warmth a constant that tingles at one’s fingertips.

Another series of cough shatters the comforting silence. Instantly, Jaehyun’s hand which holds the spoon with medicine freezes in mid air. He inhales.

“Mother,” he says, dropping the spoon back into the bowl and instead taking one of her hand into his.

His mother reciprocates by squeezing his hand with unspoken affection.

“I’m alright. It’s a simple cold, Jaehyun. It will go over soon enough.”

The tang of brewed medicine is all he can smell. When he looks down, it is bitter black swirling in porcelain bowl. His mother has barely finished half of it.

His expression turns sour. “What cold lasts for almost two weeks? Mother, how about we bring in another physician—”

Her long, black hair that adorns no ornaments falls freely over her shoulders when she leans forward, seizing the medicine bowl from his grip. Then she proceeds to take several gulps, a smile growing persistently on her quivering lips. On both her cheeks are two deep dimples.

“See?” she remarks in between gulps. “I’m healthy enough to take my own medicine. You don’t need to feed me.”

When the medicine is downed, what is left is the concern yet rooted in Jaehyun’s chest. With a sigh, he takes both her hands and squeezes them tightly until his eyes turn misty, unfallen tears bringing winter to the corners. He shifts closer until he can lay his head onto her shoulder and breathe in the familiar scent.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

With one hand, she starts patting his back slowly. Comfort washes over him, the gesture taking him back into his younger days.

Her tone is gentle, like graceful steps on rose petals. She says, “What for?”

_Everything._

“For not visiting you more often,” he answers. “For being such an unfilial son.”

“For me,” she says. “The fact that you’ve grown up to become such a brave and kind Crown Prince is more than enough. This mother has no regrets in this world.”

A flower kept in darkness for too long wilts too quickly. Likewise, a delicate person forced to become the Empress of a kingdom, trapped behind an invisible barrier and standing under the pressuring gaze of countless subjects, withers in tandem with the course of time. Growing up, Jaehyun was his mother’s one source of happiness; the pride she nurtures in the soil under which she buried her dreams from her younger years.

The love he was given, from one person, is overflowing.

In this life, Jaehyun does not know how to repay it all.

“I’m not brave,” Jaehyun speaks with difficulty. “I’m not brave.”

When he leans back, his mother brings up a thumb to smoothen out the furrow in between his eyebrows.

“Why do you say so?” she questions, eyes soft as ever.

Jaehyun shakes his head. “I’m the most powerless Crown Prince ever. I’m a Crown Prince who watches the people suffer because I cannot even stand up for them.”

“Jaehyun.”

One thing that time cannot take away from him is the way the Empress says his name, a gentle tone easily missed if one does not listen carefully. The kingdom calls him by his title. Only she calls him by his name.

“When you’re young, you’ll find out that you have a lot of ambitions but not as much power to have them become true. I understand your feelings. I hope that you’ll be able to go easy on yourself, love.”

Something runs down his cheek, a stray tear that has fallen.

“Sometimes, wanting to change something is already a great feat as it is.”

Time is cruel, for it crushes life into ashes. For it reduces the most beautiful into a forgotten memory, lost in what’s gone by.

For now, he can only relish on her warmth. Jaehyun tries to remember before everything can change in front of his eyes.  
  


☆

When the night ventures into its longest hours, it is when Jaehyun feels the most awake, aroused by the full moon standing high and proud.

He is a lonely person stargazing at a pitch black, starless sky. The royal garden—one of the many in this palace—is missing its daytime, restless sounds of feet hurrying along stone paths, now a tranquil silence that echoes in his ears. In front of him a massive pond stretches out, its surface calm in the darkness.

Stargazing has become a habit ever since he learned how to sneak past the maids and guards outside his palace undiscovered. More often than not, they are drowsy enough to not take notice of a speedy shadow running away into the distance. This particular pond is not a popular spot either and unless a soldier suddenly feels enthusiastic enough to patrol each and every one garden tonight, then Jaehyun knows it won’t be a problem.

He inhales, thinking back about the trip from weeks ago. Even now, sometimes he would jostle awake in the middle of the night, inner robe soaked from the image of the starving child. Other times, it is the town inhabitants with their sharp whispers that cut past his ears like wind in a storm. Their blaming eyes filled with devastation haunt him in his sleep.

Because of it, Jaehyun finds himself in this garden more and more often these nights.

After turning twenty, becoming older and skittering the line between faltering youth and adulthood, Jaehyun now wishes he knew the answers to whatever the problem it is. He wants to wander the streets freely without servants on his heels and their movements wary of his own. He wants to see the cruel world through his own eyes and not through the distorted, fictitious reality he has been fed with ever since young. He wants—

Perhaps he only wants to be able to do something, somewhere, for someone.

Sometimes he is the weakest person he knows and Jaehyun abhors the thought greatly.

On the dark surface of the pond, the moon is a luminous reflection. The water ripples as something beneath it moves, circles spreading out until they fade away. Out here in the openness, the wind is a shrill sound whooshing through the still air. At some point, it grows louder, momentarily obscuring the sounds of feet approaching from behind until it finally quietens and a voice shatters the peacefulness.

“Your Highness.”

Jaehyun is not startled, wordlessly angling his body towards the source of the voice but next thing he knows, his one foot slips and his body hurtles towards the black water. In the last second, he somehow manages to regain his balance, missing the way the individual stepping out from the shadows had lurched forward with his arms stretched out as if wanting to grab onto him. When Jaehyun straightens himself and looks back at the other, the man has already returned to his previous stance, a prim och polite posture. By his waist rests a too familiar black sword.

Jaehyun has always thought of the other as handsome, his features sharp and distinct even when mingled in a crowd. There under the sheer moonlight and veiled by a vague darkness, the First General looks even more captivating with eyes resembling gems that outshine the moon. No one has ever looked that fine donning a silver armor, Jaehyun thinks, and no one ever will.

Yuta bows in respect and Jaehyun inclines his head in return.

“Your Highness,” the general says. “It’s very late. What are you doing here?”

Jaehyun hums, one finger pointing upwards. “Stargazing.”

“Stargazing?” Yuta repeats, drawing out the last syllable in hesitation. His eyes dart up to the coal black sky with the exception of the bright moon.

“Uh huh, that’s something I do.”

The hazel color in Yuta’s eyes seems a little dimmer in this late hour. There is an intensity beneath the warm shade, its calm surface yet unwavering.

“First General,” Jaehyun continues. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“I’m on a night patrol,” the man simply offers after a thoughtful silence.

Jaehyun quirks an eyebrow at the blatant lie, his lip corners curved up. “Isn’t that a duty assigned to low-ranked soldiers?”

The other swallows visibly.

“As a servant under the palace, I’ll do anything and everything as long as I’m capable.”

Jaehyun takes a proper look at him. He takes a proper look at the kindness ever present in those eyes. He says, “I know that you didn’t return with me during my trip back then so that you could stay back. Everyone knows that you have a habit of visiting towns here and there and doing everything to help those inhabitants. Even the other day, I heard that you helped build the fallen watchtower outside the palace and just yesterday, everyone were talking about how you happened to cross paths with the princess of Zhonghao and even rescued her palaquine entourage from a group of bandits. Truly commendable, First General.”

There is nothing that escapes his eyes. He watches Yuta take in a breath that he then does not let go. The way Yuta looks at him, it makes Jaehyun feel like an answer is coming his way, floating up and reaching surface.

“You make even a man’s heart like me flutter,” Jaehyun says to himself as an afterthought but loud enough for the other to hear.

Yuta’s pupils instantly dilate and the fluster shows, barren on his beautiful face.

Satisfied with the reaction, Jaehyun faintly smiles before turning back to the pond.

“First General, I have to admit that sometimes I do envy you as much as I admire you. You’re incredibly strong in all kinds of sense, strong enough to protect yourself and even a whole kingdom like Jingqi. You’ve made it this far through your own abilities and it’s a path you’ve chosen for yourself. If only— If only I had half of the freedom to choose like you did. If only I had one tenth of the strength you have.”

Silence follows in the moment that they let slip by. Quietly, Jaehyun hears Yuta come closer until they stand side by side. Jaehyun finds a burning gaze on him in his peripheral vision but no courage to confirm it with a turn of the head. He hides his nervous fingers under his sleeves.

“Your Highness,” Yuta finally says. “Is there something you truly want to do?”

The question brings him back to the day in town, to the unyielding gaze of the Emperor that very evening and then, all the way back to the brim of his childhood, happy memories filled with innocent laughter ringing in his ears, fading away in the passing time.

“I want experience the reality that exists out there. I want to be able to help the ones in need and even if I were to fail at it, at least I want to know that I have tried my best. That at least I did something for them.”

Another moment to think through his final words.

“I want to be normal.”

Next to him is the rhythmic breathing of Yuta, calming him down. It feels like years before the other has something to say.

“Do you not wish to be Crown Prince then?”

Jaehyun may as well be imagining it but the First General’s voice has grown lower, deeper. A tone that sends shivers down his spine in the middle of summer. It makes something pool in his stomach.

“I’m not sure,” Jaehyun answers truthfully. “I’ve never lived another life apart from this one. It’s a fruitless thought to entertain but I sometimes imagine myself living as a normal subject just like any others. It scares me, you know, to think that maybe I would have loved that kind of life, that I may have, in fact, been unhappy these twenty-something years of being Crown Prince. But then again, who knows, I may instead cry my eyes out once I have to live a completely normal life with none of the privileges and luxuries I was born into.”

At last, finally finding it in himself to look at the man next to him, Jaehyun is not surprised to see the other looking right back. Nevertheless, it unnerves him in an unspeakable way, making his fingers curl and uncurl themselves countless times.

Wordlessly, Yuta puts a hand on his shoulder, the touch conveying enough unspoken solace for Jaehyun. True sympathy cannot possibly be shared between two people who have lived completely different lives. Therefore the other does not attempt to talk nonsense, knowing it would not bring any comfort. Instead his sole presence is enough for tonight, Jaehyun decides.

The indescribable intensity, layered with barely-there restraint, in Yuta’s eyes has not gone away. Jaehyun swallows the lump in his throat, bringing up his own hand to grasp at the one on his shoulder.

One moment, he is staring at Yuta and in the next, his foot slips again, body lurching forward and down towards the pond. On instinct, he lets go of his grip as not to drag the other down with him only to have the same hand hold onto him again, this time even more tightly than before.

The last thing Jaehyun sees before he hits the water is the worry blossoming in Yuta’s irises as they both tumble down into the pond together, bodies breaking the tranquil surface with a loud splash.

In panic, Jaehyun opens his mouth to which bubbles start coming out in streams. However, fortunately, he does not get to drink a lot before there are firm hands on his waist, pulling him upright. The pond is not deep and soon enough, Jaehyun manages to find his footing, resurfacing with help from the other. Yuta is already on his feet with the surface reaching his lower chest. Both their faces are dripping with water and covered in lost strands of hair. Yuta, he wears a stunned expression mixed with mild concern, his armor gleaming in the dim light.

Jaehyun lets out a breathy, genuine laugh that is boisterous in the silent garden at the same time as the steadying hands on him are drawn back. His two layers of robes suddenly feel quite heavy when soaked through like this, his shoulders slightly hunched over.

He says through his laughter, “I can’t believe you held onto me and let me pull you along, First General. You could have let me fall by myself. The pond is this shallow. There’s no way something would have happened me.”

Yuta shakes his head certainly.

“To protect you is my duty, your Highness.”

And then, the _look_ returns in his eyes; the same one he had worn seconds before Jaehyun had slipped and fallen into the pond.

With a boldness that can only be chalked up to the shivering temperature of the water that is befuddling his sanity, Jaehyun inches closer until their faces are a mere distance apart. Slowly, he lifts both his arms and circles them around Yuta’s neck, drawing him in closer. He is met with no refusal, not even a reluctant expression.

Perhaps his mind is not the only thing the water has stupefied.

Jaehyun quirks an eyebrow with a sly smile dancing on one corner of his lips. “Not pushing me away?”

One hand comes up to brush the wet hair covering Yuta’s face away while the other one cups his cheek. Jaehyun wipes away the water droplets on Yuta’s cheek with his thumb, trying his best not to tremble under the gravity of those eyes.

He says, “I may be clumsy and dense but at least I have eyes on my back, First General. I’m used to having people keep an eye on me from behind ever since I was a kid, so don’t you think I wouldn’t have noticed someone silently watching over me from the shadows these past hours?”

Yuta draws in a breath, armor-clad chest raising, but he does not release it.

“Tell me how long were you standing there, watching me? Would you have stayed all night if I had done the same?”

No confirmation and yet, no denial. The rosy shade that starts to color Yuta’s sun-kissed cheeks is enough of an answer.

“One last thing, tonight wasn’t really your first time watching me, was it? I’ve felt your presence way too many times this past week—”

Jaehyun leans into his ear, voice breathy on purpose.

“— _Yuta_.”

The world stops right there, with them standing with half their bodies submerged in water and the moon above bearing them witness.

“I’m sorry—” Yuta opens his mouth as if to apologize but is quickly cut off by Jaehyun who presses his lips against his for one short second before leaning back.

The shock on Yuta’s face, cheeks reddened, is enough to make Jaehyun laugh again. He shakes his head, angling his head down to brush his nose against the other’s cheek. “Don’t apologize. Had I minded, I would have reprimanded you the first time I noticed.”

Yet smiling, Jaehyun moves his hand from Yuta’s cheek down to rest right beneath his left clavicle, pressing his palm against the cool metal. Through the thick material, a sound can be heard.

“Your heart’s beating so fast,” Jaehyun states.

All of a sudden, there are hands on his waist, pressing their soaked bodies together. Any words he were about to say get stuck in his throat. No longer is he sure of who is the one controlling and who is the one being controlled and the only thing he knows is the look in Yuta’s eyes when he stares at him, an abyss deep enough to pull him in. Under the starless sky, Yuta’s cheeks are a pretty, rosy hue, illuminated by the moonlight.

And then Jaehyun leans in, capturing his lips with his own.

The kiss tastes of water but neither of them pay attention. Jaehyun feels himself being held tighter until every inch of his body, whether above or below water, presses against Yuta. Wherever it touches, it burns. Jaehyun is willing to be scorched alive if it means he can enjoy this a little longer.

It starts off slow and cautious, lips gliding together softly. Gradually, however, he can feel the urgency, Yuta’s restraint dissolving into shreds as the man deepens the kiss, teeth pulling against lower lip rough enough to sting. Jaehyun opens his mouth and lets the other lick into every corner inside, turning the kiss into something obscene enough for them to hope no one actually takes a walk by this particular garden tonight.

He threads his fingers into Yuta’s wet, tangled hair; the other reciprocates by moving his hands up and down his sides, thumbs digging into his clothed skin through the numerous layers. Jaehyun’s one hand moves from Yuta’s hair to his neck, along his shoulder and down the broad expanse of his chest that is further emphasized by his armor. Thereafter, it strays further down, resting momentarily at his hip before Jaehyun palms Yuta through his pants—an undeniable hardness under his touch. They both moan into one another’s mouth at the sensation, parting to catch a breath.

“Yuta,” Jaehyun says, leaning his head onto the other’s shoulder. “God, you’re killing me.”

Yuta holds him with tenderness and determination as if he is afraid of both breaking him and letting him go.

“Your Highness,” is his reply, voice raspy.

This time, Jaehyun sticks one hand under Yuta’s pants, stroking him without the obstruction of layers of clothing. However, he decides otherwise after a minute and pulls his hand out, stepping away a little until he is looking at Yuta with his face bearing little to no shame and a whole lot newfound revelations.

“General,” he whispers, leaning in for one last lingering, open-mouthed kiss that Yuta indulges him. “It’s a long walk from here back to your quarters. Come back to mine?”

And for Yuta, there seems to be nothing he denies the Crown Prince in front of him. Perhaps there is not anything else he would ask for either. A satisfactory smile blooms across Jaehyun’s lips as he climbs out of the pond and drags the man behind him all the way back to his chamber.  
  


☆

The First General of Jingqi is a formidable title admired by everyone. The path he walks is, inarguably, one of honor as long as one does not weigh in the lives he owns in order to protect his kingdom. Moreover, becoming the highest ruling officer in the royal army before the age of thirty which makes him younger than most deputy generals and colonels beneath him has turned Yuta into an individual whose name is often brought up in conversations.

Such a revered life, however, was doused in neither honor nor fame from the very beginning.

More often than not, Yuta lets himself relish in the past. In the obscure sceneries, he sees two figures hunched over firewood with their backs crooked and fingers scarred. His parents are not that old in his memories but the decades of labor out on the fields with the unyielding sun beating down on them have turned their bodies fragile. Growing up, he never received anything akin to affection because they were busy working past day and night to earn enough for the three of them.

In the coldest day of that particular year, he finds himself next to a tree trunk, teeth clashing together as he shivers ceaselessly. Back then, he is yet in his early teenage years with legs scrawny and arms thin. During the whole day, he had ventured into the deep forest to scavenge after wild animals as well as fruit for dinner. To top off the fact that the animals seemed to have gone into hibernation altogether, it had started snowing somewhere during the day, a thick, white layer now spread throughout the forest ground like an endless quilt. Yuta’s thin straw shoes are not enough to keep the heat from leaving his feet. Soon enough, three parts from the hunger and seven parts from the cold, he had found no strength left to make his way back home and instead, he had leaned against a tree, body sinking down until he is almost buried in the snow.

Even his irregular breathing fades away with time, a sound gradually growing quieter until it becomes scary even for him.

From the sparse beams of the dusk sun making their way through between the trees, a blurry figure walks towards him. In Yuta’s line of vision, he first notices a pair of expensive white boots with sharp and clean shoe toes peeking out from under a massive robe. His eyes continue to travel up the body. The stranger wears a long, dark blue _Hanfu_ with a lilac sash belt. His hair is gathered up into an intricate headpiece made of silver. Over his shoulders is an outer robe in a light white shade draped over his form. Its golden hem is embroidered with glimmering flowers in outmost impeccable details.

Yuta finally shifts his gaze up to see bright eyes looking back at him.

The boy’s eyes alone outshine the tiny glimpse of the sun left peeking out from behind the trees. His features radiate a youth that is yet to flourish but the way he walks and stands shows that he knows how to carry himself. Because of that, Yuta cannot guess who is younger and who is older. One thing that is for sure, however, is that Yuta understands the class difference between them at first glance.

And yet, this stranger does not.

The boy quickly kneels down in front of him, one knee dug into frosty snow without an ounce of care. With one hand, he cups Yuta’s cheek, flinching at the mere coldness his fingers are met with.

“You’re shivering,” the young boy exclaims. Without wasting another second, he slips his outer robe off his shoulders and drapes it over Yuta’s petite form, tucking him in against the tree trunk. “Are you alright? Can you talk?”

With a shaky nod, Yuta tries to smile at the same time as he fights the urge not to cry on spot. It does not work out as well as he wishes it would. He barely manages out through a raspy voice, “I’m okay. Thank you, young master.”

The frown on the other’s face does not disappear easily.

“Do you live around here?”

Yuta nods and exhales. “Right outside the forest clearing down the mountain. It started snowing suddenly so I couldn’t walk anymore.”

The boy pats his shoulders in sympathy, shooting a dimpled smile his way, one that he comes to remember forever. Then he says, “That’s good. It gets much colder once evening arrives so please try to get back home as soon as possible.”

Out from the inside of the bag he carries, he brings out a white bun that has managed to grow cold from the weather, albeit edible nonetheless.

“I stole it from the kitchen,” he says with a bright beam. Surrounded by snow, all Yuta can feel is infinite warmth seeping into his bones. “It’s a little hard but you can eat it to gain some strength.”

At first Yuta refuses, not knowing if he could take someone else’s food, let alone stolen food. But in the way the boy stares at him, eyes shining with a naive tenderness that makes his heart go askew, he finds himself willing to jump into the fire present in those eyes if it means that this person is also there burning amidst the flames.

The moment the bun is handed over to him, a distant voice echoes throughout the forest. It is filled with utter panic and urgency.

“Your Crown Prince Highness! Your Highness!!! Where have you run off to again?”

A sulky pout appears on the boy’s lips. He sighs purposefully.

“Why are they so rigid? It’s not like I can’t protect myself for a few moments.”

Despite the words, he stands up anyways, dusting off the snow from the lower part of his _Hanfu_. He makes no move to recollect his outer robe. Looking down on Yuta who follows him with his gaze, he sends him one last smile before turning away to walk back the same path he came from.

“Get home safely, okay? I’ll get going now.”

As if in a daze, Yuta stares at the retreating figure, dark blue attire and purple belt a contrast against the grey tree trunks and the white snow beneath his feet, until the other completely vanishes behind the trees in the distance. When Yuta finally snaps out of it and manages to scramble up despite his numb legs wobbling vigorously, the boy is long gone, leaving behind a feather touch against his cold cheek and an uneaten bun he now holds tightly in his hand. The white outer robe with golden hem that was hanging on Yuta’s front falls onto the snow, almost blending into it perfectly.

“Your Highness,” he whispers into the open air, letting the wind bear witness to his promise. “I’ll find you again and then, I’ll make sure to protect you. I’ll protect you with my whole life.”

In exchange for a stale bun, a forgotten robe and a simple gesture of compassion, Yuta is willing to dedicate his everything into protecting one single person. It is a bold declaration for a weak, young lad like him whose family has survived on farming for generations but it is enough of a motivation. That day, Yuta finds his way back home and that same night, he dreams of dimples sunken on white cheeks and deep eyes looking back at him.

At the age of seventeen, he first turns heads after having scored highest on the military exam and thus entered the royal military troop as a low-ranked soldier without a blood relative backing him from behind. From then on, the only way to go is higher and higher up.  
  


☆

It is difficult to remember who Yuta really is when Jaehyun is completely entranced, lured in by those hazel eyes that seem to embrace him altogether. It gets infinitely harder to remember that the path Yuta walks is not one in purity; it is bloody as much as it is arduous.

Whenever Yuta comes to his chamber during the darkest hours of the day, most times, he wears a simple dark blue _Hanfu_ over his sleeping robe, sash belt hugging his slender waist perfectly. The one thing that never changes is his ponytail and the sincerity that burns for an eternity in his gaze.

For Jaehyun, the fact that Yuta is kind and selfless has never been something to doubt. For others, however, he understands that they cannot quite say the same thing. He is sure, though, that despite the scars Yuta proudly wears on his body, despite the blood his sword has seen in its lifetime, Jaehyun loves that side as much as he does the gentleman whom he seeks in the middle of the night, the gentleman who hugs him with a faint smile each time, charming features blurry under the dim light in Jaehyun's chamber.

In that moment, standing by the side inside the palace’s inner court with his gaze following Yuta’s fearless strides, Jaehyun thinks he could advocate for the man’s innocence until his throat turns sore.

The First General’s entrance comes unannounced, shocking the entirety of the court. Time stops when Jaehyun sees a familiar figure by the threshold, Yuta’s feet carrying him with refined confidence down the carpeted floor. He does not stop until he is standing in front of a small set of stairs leading up to the throne. From this line of view, Jaehyun is staring at Yuta’s side profile when he looks straight ahead. On Jaehyun’s left, a line of royal ministers exchange befuddled looks with one another.

In front of Yuta’s eyes, seated on his throne higher up than anyone else, is the Emperor himself. His imperial robe is a shining golden color with black hem. On the soft fabric, numerous dragons are meticulously embroidered and surrounded by flowers as well as phoenixes, details intricate and immaculate, worthy of being made by the best royal tailor. He seats properly and upright, gaze sweeping sternly over the rows of people on either side of the wide red carpet, until it lands on the individual facing him in the middle. His _mian_ sways with each his movement.

“First General,” the Emperor addresses him in his usual voice although an edge is not gone unnoticed by Jaehyun’s keen ears. “You came.”

Long ago, in the eyes of the Emperor, Yuta used to be someone who deserved an ounce of his rare respect. He knew what the young kid from back then was capable of and while the greater part came from Yuta’s real abilities, he had gladly given him a helping hand in advancing the military ranks. In the present, the one reflected in his eyes is no longer a kid who had seemed too naive for this world but a respected First General with his heavy, black sword held tightly in his hand. Yuta had changed, grown into a better, wiser person. However, the fire that burned in his eyes is yet to cease and for the Emperor, that is a dangerous flame.

Yuta fears no one. He only does what he thinks is right and never what he thinks would please the Emperor whom he is working under. Soon enough, Yuta has turned into a thorn that needs to be plucked before it leaves a permanent scar. Unfortunately, Yuta has also become a thorn not easily removed; his high title that has spread throughout Jingqi has become the anchor that holds him floating until now.

Therefore, in the somber atmosphere lingering in the inner court, the Emperor seems to hold an underlying contempt toward this very same person.

Yuta bows slightly with his hands held together in front of his face and his head tilted down.

“Your Majesty,” he begins. “You had asked for my presence this afternoon.”

The ministers and Jaehyun alike appear to be in thought, wondering why Yuta has been called to come and unaware of the glint in the Emperor’s gaze.

The Emperor’s eyes turn ice cold, surface cracking subtly. His voice is not much warmer. “Someone had negotiated with the Kingdom of Zhonghao regarding the stretch of border and today, I was delivered a message from their Emperor who has expressed his wish to end the ongoing conflict between Jingqi and Zhonghao.”

In his peripheral vision, Jaehyun notices the ministers sharing with one another dismayed looks. The issue with the border has been a long-lasting one and it has been tumbled from one official over to another without success. The fact that someone has managed to resolve the conflict is simply shocking and admirable.

Yuta has dropped his arms but he has not lifted his head. The repressed fury in the Emperor’s tone grows, thriving on the tense silence he is met with.

“First General,” he grits out. “It was truly an incredible feat. But tell me, have I ordered you to do it?”

Jaehyun is not surprised to hear that it was Yuta but the stifled inhales coming from his left tells him that the others are indeed. It is not an unexpected reaction, though, because Yuta is supposed to fight for Jingqi, not to handle diplomatic conflicts which is rightfully the ministers’ duty. The fact that he has managed to do something like this fuels the envy and concern already simmering in their minds.

In a resolute yet quiet voice, Yuta finally says something, “I know that what I did was terribly improper and unwarranted of me. Your Majesty, this lowly one accepts whatever punishment you bestow on me, but I couldn’t stand by and watch innocent people living near the border being killed daily, whether it be our people or theirs. The only way for the killing to cease was to put a stop on the ongoing war.”

For a split second, Jaehyun almost lurches forward, thinking that the Emperor is going to explode and start hurling scrolls around but the look in the man’s eyes dies down quickly, a mad frenzy extinguished in a blink of an eye.

The smile on his stale lips is sinister. He says, “First General, don’t keep playing God. You can’t save everyone.”

The words hit a little too close to home. Even more so the disdain in the Emperor’s eyes, a replica of the night after his trip when Jaehyun had continuously begged him to do anything. In his chamber, the Emperor had looked back at him, and did nothing. In the end, disappointment and resentment had swirled together into dark mist, disappearing into the night.

Perhaps Jaehyun understands Yuta better than he does the imperial ruler who sits above them all. Perhaps Yuta simply thought that it was better to save one life, and then another, rather than watching them die for no justifiable reasons. Someone who has experienced a tough upbringing such as the First General knows better than anyone else how precious living can be although he undeniably walks a path with his hands soiled bloody.

“I—” Yuta answers. “I can’t save everyone but if there’s even one person whom I can save, then I won’t hesitate.”

Yuta’s sincere words are a slap of cold water onto the Emperor’s face, a poke at his own consciousness. Under his huge sleeves, he hides his clenched fists. Wordlessly, he scoffs under his breath. It goes a long while before he speaks again. By this time, the inner court has turned rigid, air frozen into something solid.

“I know you won’t. Now, because you managed to resolve something that has been ongoing for over a year, I shall not punish you. At the same time, I shall not reward you either because it was never an order for you to meddle.”

Although the unease on Yuta’s face lingers, he tilts his body into a bow. “Thank you, your Majesty.”

“However,” the Emperor continues. “To make sure that Zhonghao won’t start anything else sooner or later, I want to propose a solution.”

The grip around Yuta’s sword tightens until his knuckles turn white. Jaehyun’s smile grows nervous. His eyes unconsciously stare at the man in armor in front of him, gaze trailing from his eyelashes down the slope of his nose.

“In the message delivered from Zhonghao’s Emperor, I’ve received another inquiry.”

Yuta inclines his head. “Please enlighten me, your Majesty.”

The Emperor leans back onto his throne. Jaehyun can only wait with bated breath.

“The Emperor of Zhonghao wishes to relay a message to you. One of his daughters—princess Shu—has expressed her desire to repay you for your help the other day and she is asking whether there is something you wish for. First General, how would a marriage sound?”

The expression on Yuta’s face grows complicated. “Your Majesty, are you possibly implying that I should ask for the princess’ hand in marriage?”

“That is right,” the Emperor answers. “If the princess accepts, then the relationship between Zhonghao and Jingqi would further strengthen. From what I know, I have a feeling that she wouldn’t refute it.”

Time stops for a second that, for Jaehyun, bleeds into minutes. The minuscule smile he wears on his face freezes into its corners. Absentmindedly, he forms his hands into fists to keep himself afloat, keep himself grounded in reality—and when he realizes what he is doing, his heart stutters at the implications.

Perhaps, he does not understand himself well. He does not understand why he feels the need to walk out of there to not have to hear the answer.

They have slept with one another more than once ever since the first time Jaehyun had boldly kissed Yuta that very night; therefore, they surely aren’t nothing. Yet, it does not mean they have become something. Jaehyun does not even know if Yuta is someone whom he simply enjoys to have intimate contact with or if the man holds a deeper place in his heart than he thought.

At the same time as Jaehyun swallows down the bitterness stuck in his throat, Yuta speaks up, voice firm without room for hesitation. “I did happen to save princess Shu and her entourage from a few road robbers some weeks ago but I never asked for anything in return. I’m not going to change my mind on that matter. Your Majesty, as for your suggestion, I’m afraid this lowly one has to disobey you once again.”

“First General—!!!”

Jaehyun forgets how to breathe at the intensity in the Emperor’s eyes where fury is erupting.

Yuta continues, not paying mind. His reverent bow contrasts the defiance in his voice. “I’m not going to marry someone whom I have no feelings for. Your Majesty, please forgive this lowly one.”

The court falls into a deep silence, everyone mulling over what the First General had said many times over. They are all at a loss for words at the fact that he did not even need time to think, refuting it with outmost composure as if he had been preparing for this moment his whole life.

In a tiny slip of the moment, like a flash of lightning before thunder roars, Jaehyun thinks he can see Yuta’s eyes flit right to where he stands. They make brief eye contact before Yuta, in mid-bow, averts his gaze back to the front. No one has caught that and Jaehyun savors the moment, burning it into his mind. His fingers have not stopped shaking but this time, for another reason altogether.

Suddenly, Jaehyun’s lips tingle a little more, face heating up at the memories of a pair of hands traversing each and every expanse of his body, teeth digging into his neck with a hint of roughness as Yuta thrusts into him, muffling his unrestrained moans with his own lips. Quickly dispersing the images before they take root, Jaehyun takes a deep breath and burns a hole onto his robes with his eyes.

“Very well indeed.”

The tension disintegrates into nothingness as soon as the Emperor speaks, voice an infallible command. Yet the edge in his tone remains, if not doubled. Jaehyun, accustomed to the man’s habit, hears it undoubtedly. It makes something unsettling grow within him. He thinks back to the past, thinks about that one afternoon by the koi pond where the Emperor had uttered the same thing to Yuta with a face hiding scorn and anger.

“I won’t force you in that case,” the Emperor says. “Just be aware that you are willing to risk the relationship between the two kingdoms for your own sake. You are excused, First General.”

Yuta bows for the very last time that day and proceeds to walk away. His eyes graze Jaehyun as he is about to turn around. Jaehyun clamps down the twitching smile on his own lips, giving the man a nod.

There are endless words hanging between them but for now, he feels content with a look.  
  


☆

Today the Empress seems a lot livelier, the usual paleness gone and instead making place for a rosy color on her cheeks. Her eyes twinkle when she sweeps her gaze over her own son.

“You seem happier these days,” she remarks, pouring tea into two cups. Her red robes blend in with the crimson shade in the interior.

Jaehyun pauses in his movement, mouth suddenly dry. Immediately, his mind conjures up a blurry figure and he waves it away before it can turn clear. “Mother.”

She puts down the kettle and holds his hands, thumbs caressing them. “I raised you, Jaehyun. I can read your slightest expression. Whatever it is that has changed you, I’m glad.”

Swallowing, Jaehyun tries on a smile before he finds out that it is quivering at the edges.

“You know,” she continues, lifting her tea cup to take a sip. A whiff of smoke rises from the surface before it dissipates. “You weren’t that unhappy as a child but at some point over the years, your eyes had started to dim. The more you matured and the better a person you became, I felt like you started losing more and more of yourself along the way.”

Outside, evening has turned into night before they know it. The waning moon casts light through the open window into the vast chamber. There is a cool breeze escaping in and bringing with it the last seconds of summer.

“Life as a Crown Prince is not meant to be one in happiness. No one chooses it, you are just born into it. No one can surely say whether one’s life is better than another’s, but if this mother could choose again, I wouldn’t have given you this type of life.”

She turns to him with a smile in her eyes, wrinkles almost unnoticeable under the bright gleam.

“I feel at ease seeing that you seem a little less lost these days and a whole lot happier.”

Jaehyun’s chest is filled with unknown warmth. He grabs onto her hands and brings them up to his lips. “It’s also because of you. I’m happy for the fact that you are my mother. Even if this life gets tough later on, I won’t regret ever having lived it, knowing that you are here by my side.”

_Because of you, I was able to survive this far in this tough world. Because of your endless sacrifices, I was able to grow to be who I am today._

“One day, we shall truly become happy, mother.”

☆

  
It is awfully rare for Yuta to seek him out first. It is always Jaehyun who calls for him under the pretense of a discussion or a martial art lesson or sometimes, Jaehyun simply tells him to sneak to him when everyone is no longer awake.

This night grows deeper, fading moonlight making way for an eeriness that echoes back. On the path leading from the Empress’ palace back to his own, Jaehyun glimpses a shadow darting surreptitiously behind him and his servants, following them but not approaching, and he hides a smile behind his sleeve and pretends not to have taken notice. Instead he continues walking. Once they arrive at his palace, he swiftly waves away the servants who promptly bow before scurrying away to their night duties. Behind him in the dark, the lurking shadow is gone, not a trace left behind.

Jaehyun enters, taking his time to walk down the corridor that leads to his bedchamber. One moment, he is about to push the door open with one hand held up and in the next, he is being grabbed by the wrist before he could even touch it. Yuta pushes him against the paper door, caging him in with his body. Jaehyun’s breath hitches, half in shock and half in anticipation. On his face is the ever-present curl of the lips, a smile growing sly.

“Yuta,” he purrs, fingers threaded into the other’s hair as Yuta wordlessly starts kissing down the column of his throat. “Were you following me?”

“Your Highness,” Yuta says in return with a frown. His honest expression is enough of an answer. “I was waiting for you here but you were visiting the Empress for quite some time this evening so I left to find you.”

There is a ringing laughter escaping Jaehyun. He cups Yuta’s cheeks with a soft gaze. “I had such a long talk with my mother that I didn’t even realize time flew by. I didn’t know you are willing to wait for me that long. I apologize for my tardiness.”

At those words, Yuta profusely shakes his head, placing soft kisses along his jaw and then finally, he leans in to kiss him squarely on the lips. Even with eyes closed, Jaehyun feels the other smile into the kiss and he knows that, on his own lips, is an identical smile mirrored.

Having changed out of his armor from this afternoon in the court, this Yuta wears his simple, dark blue _Hanfu_ with a sash belt around his waist. His ponytail hangs high on his head. Tonight, he has forgone his sword, leaving his duties aside for a moment. Tonight, Yuta has come to seek pleasure, to seek love.

“I’m willing to wait for you, your Highness, no matter how long it takes.”

“Jaehyun,” Jaehyun says.

Yuta pulls back, seemingly confused.

“Jaehyun,” Jaehyun repeats. “I want you to call me by my name. I’m calling you by yours so it’s fair that you do the same, isn’t it? Your Highness is too rigid.”

Yuta yet looks unconvinced, lips drawn into a thin line in contemplation.

“Yuta, don't you think it’s too formal to call me your Highness considering what we’ve done together?”

Jaehyun brings up Yuta’s hand, kissing the knuckles.

“I want you to call me Jaehyun.”

Against the subtle glint in Jaehyun’s eyes, the features on Yuta’s face grow impossibly softer, eyebrows smoothening out and cheeks losing tension. On his handsome face, a smile takes root. He caresses Jaehyun’s cheek with one hand, leaning up to kiss his forehead.

“Jaehyun,” Yuta whispers as if Jaehyun is sacred, deserving to be revered on his knees. The intimate gesture bathes Jaehyun in an unknown warmth and he holds onto the other tighter.

“General,” he says, voice alluring on purpose. “We’re right outside my bedchamber and anyone could walk in on us any moment. Is it what you want? For someone to accidentally witness you fucking me senselessly, I mean. Would you enjoy that, love?”

In an instance, Yuta’s gaze turns dark, glazed over by something carnal that turns Jaehyun’s legs weak. Pushing the door with more strength than needed, Yuta drags him inside and proceeds to lock it so that no one can easily push it open from the outside.

They fall into bed in a mess with legs tangled together and hot bodies pressed onto another with way too many layers in between. Jaehyun’s laughter is swallowed by the other. In the dimly lit room, accompanied by two single candles by his bed, Yuta’s eyes are a starry sky opening up in front of him.

He pushes Yuta until the other is lying with his back against the soft bedding. When Jaehyun settles on top of him, one knee on either side, he smiles at the feeling of Yuta’s hardness against his bottom and proceeds to grind down, watching Yuta’s expression grow complicated and overwhelmed in utter desire.

Each time with Yuta feels like the first, fingertips tingling in excitement and body reacting in arousal.

“Yuta,” Jaehyun moans unabashedly, untying Yuta’s sash and pulling the upper robe open so he could get to the pants. Once those are also off, he grabs hold of Yuta’s length, stroking it to full hardness as he leans down to kiss the other messily. Yuta’s lips glisten in the flicker of the candlelight. Jaehyun’s other hand wanders to settle on the toned muscles of Yuta’s stomach that tense both at the press of Jaehyun’s palm and at the working of his fist around him.

In return, Yuta’s hands travel from his shoulder blades down the expanse of his clothed back to the curve of his bottom before cupping them, squeezing roughly when Jaehyun purposefully flicks his thumb across his member’s head. Jaehyun moans again; this time it is a sound swallowed by Yuta in an open-mouthed kiss.

“Off,” Yuta commands, bothered at the difference in the amount of layers they currently wear.

It takes a while and some struggle before Jaehyun finally discards his two outer layers of clothing and his pants onto the floor, exposing his bare chest and lower body. The sheer intensity in Yuta’s eyes when they rake over his body, worshipping him with one look, suddenly makes him feel embarrassed and Jaehyun bends down for yet another kiss to forget about the heat in his own cheeks.

Eyes closed, Jaehyun does not notice anything until he feels a cold, slick finger prodding at his entrance and he jerks forward on instinct only to be caught in Yuta’s arms with the other peppering feather light kisses down his neck.

“Jaehyun,” Yuta mumbles, tone almost incoherent as he presses his lips onto his skin. “Relax.”

Jaehyun laughs, burying his nose into the other’s hair that is slightly drenched in sweat and inhaling the overpowering scent of lavender. He says, “I’m not a virgin, General. You just took me by surprise. I had completely forgotten that I already told you where I hide the oil.”

With that said, he sinks down onto the oil-coated finger, sensation not foreign to him. Under him, Yuta continuously moves his hand in and out while his other free hand moves to the front to pump Jaehyun slowly in the same rhythm. Even something as simple as being prepared, being touched, makes Jaehyun’s chest heave at the speed of light.

He bends down enough for him to reach Yuta’s face, latching onto his lips in unprecedented need with his tongue pushing past Yuta’s lips until it is licking up the roof of his mouth. The gesture assures Yuta enough to add in two more fingers at the same time which elicits an even louder, more lewd sound from the other perched on top of him.

“You’re so beautiful,” the First General grits out through clenched teeth, pupils dilating, a towering wave eroding against cliff in those eyes. “Jaehyun, I waited today to tell you that, for me, there hasn’t been anyone but you and there will never be another person either.”

The sudden confession draws Jaehyun out from reality and brings him back to this afternoon in the court. It is then that he remembers what had occurred, remembers the suggested marriage from the Emperor and he smiles foolishly to himself at the implication that Yuta had minded the fact that Jaehyun was there and had heard it. However, what Yuta does not know is that his prompt refusal back then was more than enough. If there even was the slightest doubt back then, there sure isn’t now.

Lining himself up above Yuta’s length, Jaehyun leans down to place a short kiss on the other’s eyelid while brushing away the hair sticking to his forehead. His heart forgets how to beat in the moment Yuta opens his eyes to stare at him.

“Me too,” Jaehyun says. The man beneath him breaks out into a smile, bright in the faint light.

And then Jaehyun sinks down, sucking in a deep breath as his heart now beats twice in a row at the feeling of being stretched open to the core. He straightens his back in an attempt to take in as much of Yuta as possible until he has bottomed out, skin wholly pressed against skin.

Yuta’s face is a myriad of emotions, pleasure and concentration alike gliding across his furrowed eyebrows. He props his upper body up with both his elbows, stomach muscles turned into ripples as they tense.

“Give me a moment,” Jaehyun exhales, gathering his long hair hanging in front and throwing it behind him. The other is there when Jaehyun leans forward with the silent demand to be soothed and Yuta complies easily, sitting up to trail kisses from Jaehyun’s lips down to his Adam’s apple and then back up. Firm arms come to snake around Jaehyun’s back.

The second Jaehyun starts moving his hip up and down, clenching involuntarily, they both hiss in pleasure, grasping onto one another as anchor.

“General,” Jaehyun moans, voice broken. “Aren’t I taking you so well? God, you’re really killing me. Ah, Yuta—”

There is no reply from the other. Yuta wears a focused expression, eyebrows put together and nose scrunched up. He slides his hands down Jaehyun’s back and places them under his bottom, lifting them in tandem with Jaehyun as the latter moves his body. The filthy squelches that echo within the chamber, skin gliding against white liquid dripping down Jaehyun’s thighs—they amplify the sensation filling him up and slowly bringing him over the edge.

“Don’t hold back,” Jaehyun breathes out, hands curled around Yuta’s shoulders.

The pace instantly quickens, sending his train of thought shattering into incoherent sentences.

The longer time passes, the quicker the movements grow until at the very end where Jaehyun is mostly controlled by Yuta’s hands alone while his own hands around Yuta’s shoulders are harsh enough to leave bruises in their wake.

The first one to fall over the edge is Jaehyun.

He spills a white, sticky liquid that ends up on both their stomachs and chests. One tiny drop ends up on Yuta’s chin to which Jaehyun leans down to lap at it with his tongue slyly poking out. Something in Yuta’s eyes shifts and in the next second, he is kissing him, impatient tongue prodding his mouth open as he tastes Jaehyun. The hands on Jaehyun’s bottom grow merciless, now chasing pleasure. Yuta reaches his peak after a few more thrusts, groaning with his face hidden in Jaehyun’s neck, and releases inside him.

They both remain quite still for a while, trying to regain their normal breathing. Feeling worn out, Jaehyun pushes at Yuta’s shoulders until they are lying down on the soft bed with Yuta yet inside of him. The moment Jaehyun playfully clenches around him, Yuta hisses, biting down on Jaehyun’s shoulder. With a laugh, he pulls out of Yuta and collapses beside him, watching the other stand up after a moment to grab a cloth to which he cleans themselves up with.

Once finished, Yuta neither lies down again nor does he walk away, eyes raking with ease over Jaehyun’s body. Jaehyun can feel the way Yuta’s gaze lingers on the red bite marks scattered on his shoulders. After that, he can barely blink before there are lips locked onto his, chastely kissing the last fraction of life out of him. In that one kiss, Jaehyun can feel thousands of emotions.

Jaehyun holds Yuta’s hand tightly so he does not run away. Yuta, ever as obedient and left with no other choices, climbs under the cover with him, gently pecking his forehead and then his lips before encircling him with his arms and drawing him in against his chest.

Somewhere deeper into the night, Jaehyun is yet grabbing onto Yuta’s hand, slowly dragging his lips along the lines on his palm.

“You know, when I first saw you, I think it was when you were yet a colonel? It was a few years ago. Once I had noticed you, it became a habit to keep seeing you even when you were standing a crowd of soldiers. Because you’re such an enticing presence that always manages to catch my eyes. I’d never have thought— I never knew you also looked at me that way.”

“It wasn’t the first time you saw me.”

“Huh, what did you say?”

“...Nothing.” Yuta softly kisses his forehead. “Goodnight, Jaehyun.”

  
**PART 2. 花无百日红**

Life goes by before he knows it.

Jaehyun watches a shooting star charge across the dark sky, leaving a white streak in its wake and instead of making a wish, he thanks it for bringing Yuta to him. He watches Yuta return many times with his soldiers, exhausted and with hidden torment in his eyes and he asks about the lives they have saved, not the ones they have lost.

At times, Yuta seems lost. He seems to be wandering back to a time forever gone, but it only takes a look from Jaehyun, hand in hand, for the other to come out of his trance, eyes cleared of muddiness. The smile that follows makes Jaehyun’s heart stutter with certainty.

That summer bleeds into yellow leaves floating idly on calm water. The passing season chases time, not quick enough but never, never slow. In the midst of it, Yuta remains unchanged.

“Your Highness.”

This time, it is Jaehyun who is shaken out of his day reverie, quickly grabbing the swing ropes to not fall off. He turns his head to meet familiar hazel eyes. Yuta’s headpiece reflects sunlight shining right into Jaehyun’s eyes, making him squint on instinct. Instantly, Jaehyun’s expression melts, leaving place for an unconcealed delight to bloom on his lips. With a wave, he sends his servants away and they scurry out of sight without as much as another word.

Under the giant oak where the swing is hung under its thickest branch, the wind looms past, blowing their hair and robes in the same direction with the passing breeze. Without a word, Jaehyun turns back to the front, starting to kick with his legs higher and higher up.

Crispy leaves rustle under the weight of Yuta’s soles when he moves closer to Jaehyun. Soon enough, there are hands pushing him with controlled strength from behind. Jaehyun’s quiet laughter is mellow in the loud whirring of the wind as the distance between him and the ground grows. When he tilts his head to look back, Yuta is all he sees, starry eyes under the afternoon sun.

Jaehyun sets his feet down to anchor himself after a good while, digging them into the leaves-covered grass until the swing slows down significantly, until he is moving neither away nor closer to Yuta. Once he completely comes to a standstill, Yuta walks to the front to face him. The blazing sun is now blocked by Yuta’s armor and his eyes seem to burn brighter, stars crackling, in the shadows.

Seconds pass; not a word does. The gentleness on Yuta’s face does not diminish.

“Your Highness,” Yuta dumbly exhales when unable to find anything to say. He had happened to pass the Crown Prince by in the garden and found himself walking towards him before he even could conjure up a reason to stay.

A particularly strong breezes rushes past them, racing with Jaehyun’s heart. With one hand, he cups Yuta’s cheek and then, he leans up to give him a kiss that makes Yuta’s shoulders turn stiff in an instance.

“Jaehyun,” he hisses but Jaehyun stubbornly leans in again, latching onto Yuta’s lips until the other, against his panicked words, reciprocates the kiss. “We’re outside.”

“So what? Don’t you want to kiss me, First General?”

At those words, the veins on Yuta’s temples protrude in both embarrassment and restraint. Jaehyun only knows how to laugh, not loosening his grip on the swing ropes. Using his feet, he pushes himself forward until their faces almost touch. Yuta’s heavy breathing hits him right on his nose. Then he pulls Yuta in by his shoulders, stopping right before their lips connect. The one thing keeping the space left between them from collapsing is the restraint gradually growing thin across Yuta’s eyebrows.

Jaehyun sees the way Yuta looks down at his lips, swallowing visibly, with eyes drowned in pure desire.

“Yuta,” Jaehyun whispers, tucking a stray strand of hair behind the other’s ear. The faint and familiar lavender fragrance invades his senses. “No one’s here. I’m giving you a choice right now.”

Once finished, he actually drops his hands to hold onto the swing ropes instead and pushes himself backwards with his feet in a teasing manner. Though he does not manage to make it far because the next time he blinks, Yuta has chased the distance Jaehyun has created, leaning in to kiss him deeply. Jaehyun smiles against Yuta’s lips, chest bursting in satisfaction.

When they part from the kiss, his heart stutters at the intensity in Yuta’s eyes. Yuta’s gaze is steadfast and warm as molten lava. Jaehyun burns himself trying to reach him.

Yuta’s silver armor is pristine and refined. On his face, he wears a smile, rare and precious. To Jaehyun, Yuta’s existence is divine—an exceptional blessing.

“Oh First General, what I’m entranced by you. I think I’m completely bewitched.”

Even the way Yuta’s eyes widen at the words sends butterflies tumbling in Jaehyun’s stomach. The tips of Yuta’s ears turn a rosy color and he leans in again to hide his fluster, swallowing Jaehyun’s brazen laughter easily.  
  


☆

Several months idly pass them by like that.

And then one morning, someone bursts into Jaehyun’s study in a haste, interrupting him in the middle of his studying. The eunuch wears a frightened expression with clothes and hat crooked in a frenzy. In fact, he seems horrified enough to not even remember to knock before entering.

“T-the—“ the eunuch stammers, heaving simultaneously. “Your Highness, the Empress—”

Before he could even finish his sentence, the eunuch is doused in a wave of tears, lips curled downwards in sorrow. Jaehyun’s brows crease in dismay. A sudden bad premonition seizes his throat and he suddenly cannot breath.

Static rings in his ears—a deafening sound that cracks in the most serene silence.

Sometimes, a calm sea is the scariest. Jaehyun learns it the hard way.

The news of the Empress’s death travels quickly throughout the kingdom. Within days, everyone is in mourning. Across the palace, a grim atmosphere has come to stay, lingering in the air and frozen into something palpable. Everywhere the eyes can reach, royalties and servants alike adorn completely white _Sangfu_ with pristine sleeves untainted. Even the Emperor ceases court meetings, opting to stay secluded.

However, behind closed doors, whispers are shared in a hushed manner and glances lavishly exchanged. Then after a few days, their lives continue on as usual, the incident now a distant memory in the back of their minds. No one is crying, even when it is for the Empress.

Pretending to grieve is an easy act and perhaps, the only one who is truly in despair and remorse is her only son, the one person who truly knew who she used to be before she passed away.

For Jaehyun, there has not been many individuals in his life who have ever stood by his side and now one of them is gone, never to return. It came way too unexpected. Perhaps, Jaehyun thinks, if he sleeps this away then she will be here once he awakes, patting his head softly like she used to do. But always, the only thing left by the time he wakes up is the bitter taste of blood on his tongue and a reality too painful to handle.

At first, there is only place for fury. Jaehyun burns with hot, white anger that gives rise to tremors throughout his body hours on end. Once that dies down, a silent emptiness echoes in the space where it had been and somehow, that hurts even worse.

In a darkness that wholly consumes him, he spends seven days and seven nights in mourning. It takes seven days for the nightmare to finally sink in. Throughout his seclusion, he kneels in front of her altar in the empty memorial hall until he no longer can feel his legs and yet, he never budges.

The Emperor had paid the Empress a brief visit on the first day during Jaehyun’s seclusion but he never returned after that.

“Crown Prince.”

His voice was stern when the Emperor had called out to him, tone bearing no solace, no warmth. The man had, moreover, barely tried to hide the apparent indifference in his gaze but Jaehyun did not bother mentioning it. Giving no indication that he had even heard him, Jaehyun had refused to acknowledge the other’s presence, opting to silently grieve by himself.

In a way, Jaehyun thought that he himself had been angry for too long. It would have brought him no good to aim his fury on the Emperor too.

By the end of the seventh night, his pale complexion is highly noticeable and his lips have turned a sickly blue. When his knees give up on him once he steps out from the memorial hall, no one is there to steady him. His body weakly staggers before it collapses onto the ground, the sight somehow miserable in the approaching dawn. With both hands, he props his body up in a sitting position but he does not stand up. Instead he allows himself to cry for the first time ever since he learned of her death.

From a sweet dream that had seemed like real life, what welcomes him right now is a nightmare-like reality.

He cries, calling out to someone who cannot respond. Once this night is at last gone, perhaps, it will bring her with it too. By then, there is no longer a gentle tone calling him “son”; lost is the pair of eyes that have watched him grow and silently followed him in protectiveness throughout the years, dispersed together with the blurry morning mist.

He cries even when the servants come rushing because of the commotion and he makes no efforts to stop the tears that have been held back for many days too long from falling.

During some point, he must have fallen unconscious and by the time he opens his eyes again, it is already late afternoon. He is neatly tucked into his own bed with cool bedding soft under his fingertips. In his head, an incessant headache makes itself known—a menace that refuses to go away. His throat feels dry and hoarse. Wasting no time, Jaehyun sits up, ignoring the way his head throbs in protest.

He needs to see Yuta.

He needs to see him before he completely goes insane.

His maid stares at him in disbelief the moment she steps into his chamber.

“Your Highness,” she bows in haste. “You need to be resting. You were kneeling for seven—”

“I—” Jaehyun manages. The surprise on her face does not fade. Instead, it magnifies at whatever she sees when looking at him. Desperation, maybe. Or a flash of agony, red at the edges and familiar at the core. “I need to see the First General.”

Usually, he would have been more careful but right now, dressed messily in his inner robes, eyes wild, with hands gripping his own sleeves until his knuckles drain of color, Jaehyun finds himself unable to mind anything any longer.

Instantly, his heart drops.

Because on her face, an uneasiness spreads like fire, burning his heart into dust strewn in all directions.

“Your Highness,” she says with her head held down, not quite meeting his eyes. “I’m afraid that it’s not possible. First General isn’t in the palace at the moment.”

Jaehyun lets a moment go by. Not to let that sink in, no, he had pretty much already guessed it from her anxious face but to make sure his voice does not sound shattered by the time he speaks up again.

“When is he coming back then?”

The tension in the room continues to grow; the world continues to spin in front of his eyes and it only takes one person to make it stop but the heavens won’t even grant him that that easily.

Reflected in the maid’s eyes once she lifts her head up is a bottomless abyss, a darkness that lures him in. Something wavers beneath surface—a sinister crackle coming from somewhere from inside his ears. Before she even speaks up, Jaehyun stumbles backward until his legs hit the edge of the bed and he heavily falls onto the bedding.

His hand cuts through air, raised as to tell her to not make another sound. Yet, it is too late. Her voice rings through the thick space between them, reaching him effortlessly. He hears every word clearly enunciated.

“We cannot say for sure. The First General is leading a trope at the frontline at this moment and the kingdom we’re waging war against isn’t an easy opponent.”

If there is something Jaehyun can say for sure that he knows about Yuta, then that is that the other would never agree to start war against an innocent party. Throughout his years in the royal army, whenever he led a battle, it was because the enemy made the first move. There was never an exception.

“Which kingdom is it?”

Jaehyun closes his eyes and presses the ball of his palm against his temple, feeling the headache intensify under these short minutes.

“It’s Longan, your Highness,” she speaks. She seems to be choosing her words carefully, sensing the darkness that has started to loom over the Crown Prince.

At once, Jaehyun shoots up in his bed although his legs shake at the sudden movement. Thereafter, he tries to sit down once again and yet, the tremors won't stop coming. Not only that, fear clogs each and every sense of his. His blood has run cold.

Inside his head, a name won’t stop echoing.

“Longan?”

“Yes, your Highness.”

Longan is well-known for their massive military power; unbeknownst to no one, the kingdom is almost undefeated when it comes to wars and battles. To go against Longan, in a way, can be taken as asking for death itself. Even with a legendary general like Jingqi’s First General, it is admittedly difficult for him to get out of a battle against Longan’s soldiers unscathed.

Jaehyun cannot bear to see the flicker of hope inside him die out.

“When did they get dispatched?”

“Around five days ago.”

“Why?” From nowhere, his vision turns blurry. Jaehyun can hear his tone faltering. “Why did he do that? What did Longan ever do to us?”

Upon his words, evident fury colors the maid’s face, barely unrestrained. It seems as though during the time Jaehyun had stayed secluded from the outside world, a life has passed him by. It comes closer and closer until it passes him under a single blink of an eye. Now he can barely grasp at the shreds left behind.

“Your Highness, I’m sorry that you have to hear it from this lowly one but Longan deserves everything bad coming their way. We have to take revenge for the Empress and her servants.”

Jaehyun stops breathing altogether.

“The Kingdom of Longan is said to be behind the assassination of the Empress as well as the subsequent massacre of her entire palace. The Emperor simply could not sit back and ignore what they have possibly done so he had ordered for the First General to lead an attack. The First General had agreed without any objections.”

_Yuta would never agree when it is only a rumor._

That is what Jaehyun opens his mouth to retort but right then, a fuzzy memory floats up to the surface, lost in the haze and the frenzy of loss and grief. It starts to become clear now that the pain has numbed considerably.

In there, he sits on the floor by his own bed; there is someone shaking his shoulders firmly until his eyes focus on the person clad in silver armor who is staring at him with concern in his eyes. For a second, that tiny glimmer of worry is enough to shatter the muddy maze his mind was wandering in and Jaehyun grabs Yuta’s hands, holding them together tightly, eyes fierce and burning with a scorching flame that startles even the other.

“Your Highness,” Yuta sounds a little hesitant. “Jaehyun, are you alright?”

“Yuta,” Jaehyun says. “Yuta, Yuta. You aren’t our First General for nothing, are you? Everyone says that you’re invincible, that you have the skills to kill anyone. Please kill them for me. Please. Please kill them, whoever did this to my mother. Don’t let them live. It hurts, Yuta. It hurts so bad. They aren’t allowed to live. They have to die. All. All of them”

Even his own voice sounds fragmented and incomprehensible to him in his now seemingly distant memories. And yet, Yuta seems to have understood each and every word, mouth drawn into a firm line as he embraces him with an unleveled certainty. There is a wordless promise lingering in the air between them, sealed with a gentle kiss that Yuta places on the top of his head. When Yuta breaks the hug, his eyes glisten with raging sorrow upon witnessing the despair in Jaehyun’s expression.

“Don’t worry, your Highness. I’ll avenge the Empress for you. I’ll kill the murderers and bring you their heads.”

“Please kill them,” Jaehyun repeats, mind already ascended back into madness and not registering Yuta’s words at all. “Kill them.”

There is a determination, high and unmoving as the mountains, in Yuta’s gaze. That same determination, thawing even the hardest of ice, overrides the morals he had long held in his heart. For one person, he is willing to turn a blind eye to what he once believed in.

Before he walks away, he stares at his lover once more, eyes searching for something in Jaehyun’s gaze that he cannot seem to find. Heaving a sigh, he leans in, pecking Jaehyun on the forehead one last time.

“I love you, Jaehyun.”

This time, Jaehyun does not reply.

That was seven days ago, the night before Jaehyun went into mourning. Somehow, he has managed to repress that particular memory or rather, each and every memory stretching from the moment he learned the news until his seclusion.

For Jaehyun, their last memory together is the way Yuta’s hair had fluttered in the morning breeze when Yuta kissed his knuckles in farewell by the window. He sees Yuta waving goodbye when the other walked away with a crimson tulip held dearly in one hand.

For Yuta, their last memory together is that of insanity and worry, of Jaehyun desperately begging him to dirty his hands to quench his own raging pain.

Perhaps if Jaehyun had listened closer, he would have heard the shakiness in the other’s voice. Perhaps he would have been able to come out from his own hysteria, holding onto Yuta so he would not be able to walk away. If Jaehyun had known whom he was sending Yuta to, he would have been on his knees, begging the other not to go. But back then, he did not. For the one choice he had made, he fears the high price that eventually follows.

For Jaehyun, the fact that he suddenly hears Yuta’s sincere confession in his ears, a voice that spoke with no hesitation, and the knowledge that he was not able to return those words hurt like a thousand thorns puncturing his heart until he is drained of blood, of feelings.

The world spins more crazily. The maid standing before him turns faint, blobs of colors waning into blur smudges. Vaguely, a voice calls out to him in alert but he has already fallen back into the welcoming darkness for the second time that day.  
  


☆

Outside the Emperor’s study, the two royal guards share warning looks with one another but they are not able to block Jaehyun’s advancement in time before the Crown Prince has pushed the door open, trudging past them with only a few strides.

The Emperor is seated by his table, surrounded by countless scrolls of inquiries and requests from officials and citizens alike. His face in that particular moment is the perfect example of tranquility, a calm ocean, never stirring.

At the sound of footsteps, the man looks up with a displeased scowl at the unannounced intrusion, especially when his gaze lands on Jaehyun by the threshold. Before he manages to speak up, Jaehyun has beaten him to it. His voice is strained as he forces himself to remain collected.

“Why did you send the First General to the frontline? You can’t possibly be stupid enough to not be aware of Longan’s military power.”

The fury seeps out in short bursts, cutting Jaehyun’s breathing irregularly. The Emperor’s eye twitches at his brashness. Under the surface, an unsteady current vibrates.

“Why not?” he answers calmly, slowly setting down the scroll that he is holding. “Say, Crown Prince, isn’t there a reason why the First General is well-known throughout this kingdom? He’s the highest ranked general in the royal army, the best bet we’ve got.”

“A bet?” Jaehyun echoes, voice a sneer. “A bet? Is that all that he is? You don’t even know whether he’ll make it back alive and you’re willing to take a huge risk for what?”

The Emperor’s anger is well-masked under his facade, owing to years of learning how to perfectly play court politics like wielding the last winning move in chess. He is the best player one could ever be.

“Longan assassinated the Empress. There is no way they can come out of it without retribution.”

“On what basis?” Jaehyun grits out. “With what evidence can we draw such a judgement? What if they’re not behind this? Then you had sent him seeking his own death for nothing. Nothing.”

Admittedly, Jaehyun is the worse actor between the two of them, his mask cracking terribly under his own raging emotions. His hands are balled into fists, ready to pounce.

“It’s not for nothing. Longan has been a stable kingdom for so many years. This war should be enough to sway them a little. Even if we don’t win this time, we will leave an indent. Indents that accumulate over the years will be enough for even a thriving kingdom like theirs to crumble down to dust.”

That is the last straw.

Jaehyun crosses the last steps over, grabbing the Emperor by the collar and forcing him up into a standing position with his outmost strength. Because he was not expecting it, the Emperor is easily moved, eyes widening a fraction in a burst of madness before he schools his expression into that of indifference. An impeccable tranquility settles back into place but it is crooked somehow.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he inquires, poison in his tone.

Jaehyun shakes him, baring his teeth. His eyes blaze with heat.

“An indent??? You’re using my mother’s death as an excuse to act on your own greed? Isn’t neglecting her when she was still alive not enough? Why do you have to continue stepping on her and tormenting her even after her passing?”

As if the guards outside have been listening in on their conversation, the moment Jaehyun finishes his sentence, he is being held by two pairs of arms and forced backwards and out from the Emperor’s reach. No matter how much he struggles, the guards’ hold is steel, locking him in place even as he thrashes with rage, quietly cursing the man in front of him.

Fixing his robes as if nothing is wrong, the Emperor simply waves him off, watching the Crown Prince being dragged out of the room with intent eyes. Before the other disappears from his line of view completely, the Emperor speaks up.

His voice holds a contempt deeper than the ocean.

“It’s not like the Empress did nothing wrong either. She was colluding with the First General to bring me down, didn’t you know? How else could a general have possibly found out about court matters not involving him? Your own mother did that. She should be grateful that in death, she was at least able serve a purpose for this kingdom.”

Long after having been disposed back into his own bedchamber, Jaehyun is unable to stop screaming and his shoulders quake in tandem. He screams; what comes out is utter pain, carrying with it a hint of madness. When he buries himself under the thick blankets in the comfort of his bed, he suddenly wonders if pretending not to have noticed Yuta’s infatuation with him from the beginning would have spared the other this disastrous fate.

Deep down, the pain is immeasurable. Something sharp carves into his heart, twisting it until bones and blood fuse, until what is left becomes unrecognizable.

The Emperor is wrong. He is wrong from the very beginning.  
  


☆

Blood, and so much of it.

It covers the ground, splatters of crimson across dark brown, painting a gruesome picture. Yet when he looks down on his own hands, they are completely clean, strangely devoid of colors. The same goes for his white inner robes that flutter in the wind.

In the night, behind a layer of mist, a figure walks through the pool of red towards him. The mysterious shadow brings with them a bad omen. They are misery.

When Jaehyun’s vision clears in the dimness, so does his expression.

“Yuta!” he exclaims, attempting to walk up to the other. But somehow, his feet are stuck to the ground, uncomplying even when Jaehyun puts in all his strength through gritted teeth.

Through the fog, Yuta emerges, face bloody and armor half-ruined. The middle length hair that is usually put up in a ponytail is highly crooked to the side, swaying in the passing breeze. Yuta is missing his sword, missing one half of him. Instead, in his hand lies a lonely tulip. Jaehyun’s heart shatters into a million shards.

“Yuta?” he repeats.

Only a silence echoes back at him. Yuta’s eyes have turned dull, that familiar glint gone missing, lost in the hectic flow, dissolved by the hands of fate. Once, those eyes had held a shine that used to be alive, there was a shine that unmistakably made him the confident, heroic First General of Jingqi. Now, the only thing Jaehyun can read is sorrow, burned ashes from a hope extinguished with the morning sun.

He chokes up into a sob, and another sob.

“Yuta,” he tries again. And again. Hoping for an answer. For something akin to happiness or longing or just a sign of life to bloom in the dead buds in those eyes. He aches to see one last smile grow on those lips, stretching them wide open to reveal a row of pearly white teeth. “Yuta. Yuta, I love you. I love you so much. You have to know that. Without you, there’s no purpose for me. Please, my love, I’m so sorry. I’ve wronged you. Yuta please, say something.”

This feels eerily familiar. Jaehyun is thrown back into the night before his seclusion when Yuta had desperately tried to look for something in his eyes—something that was not even there. This time, how the tables have turned.

Wordlessly, Yuta lifts up one hand—the one with the flower—almost as if telling him to take it back. The gesture is slow. He does not seem to have heard Jaehyun at all. Jaehyun is not even sure if Yuta has a consciousness left at this point. Adamantly, he shakes his head, fingers digging into his own palms.

It does not hurt.

“I’m not taking it back,” he says with determination. “What I’ve given you is not only this one flower. If you’re going to return it, then return everything. If not, then don’t return any of it.”

There is no change in Yuta’s absent gaze but he slowly retracts his hand. After that, he starts walking past Jaehyun and straight into the mist that separates them. And no matter how much Jaehyun calls out to him, his voice hoarse, Yuta’s back continues to fade away until he disappears into the fog.

When Jaehyun opens his eyes in fright, jostling awake to the sound of his own screaming, it is early morning and he is in his bed, drenched in sweat with the worst sore throat. He is unable to utter another word.  
  


☆

The First General of Jingqi meets a gruesome death under the swords of Longan’s ruthless generals. And yet, the one thing people remember for years to come is the way his lifeless corpse, face smeared with blood but filled with an indescribable, frosty charm, has tightly clutched onto a nameless crimson flower, grip refusing to loosen even long after his last breath. And although the flower is brought to a battlefield where blood fills up an ocean but water is scarce, it blooms—a sight that is dauntingly, hauntingly beautiful.  
  


☆

The news of Yuta’s death travel quickly, subjects and royalties alike mourning the unfortunate passing of a young and courageous First General whose trodden path remains difficult to either replicate or reproduce. He is revered, called a hero for his sacrifice.

From the very beginning, perhaps Jaehyun has already expected the worst, knowing that the moment Yuta mounted that horse and left Jingqi for Longan, he was riding towards an imminent death. Thinking back on the prophetic dream the other day, Jaehyun thinks he finally understands the lack of life shining in those eyes in the mist.

Yet, it does not mean he is prepared for the pain that follows when reality becomes too much to bear, the moment of realization that this particular someone no longer exists in this world. Through his numerous doubts and against his endless fears, he had prayed for Yuta’s safe return anyways. He has waged his heart on someone whose duties have him fight inevitable wars and now he is left empty-handed, losing his two most loved people almost simultaneously.

He may be a prince but in that moment, he is powerless against the heavens’ plans, watching as darkness settles and grey clouds loom.

Even by himself in his chamber with the four walls closing in on him, Jaehyun tries to hold down the tears to his best ability. Sometimes, it feels as if he can sense Yuta’s fingers tracing patterns across his skin but the illusion shatters the moment he tries to hold onto it. Regret piles on him, unsaid words filling up the void Yuta has left behind, and all Jaehyun knows is to bury them under a false reassuring smile, pretending to not be in torment in front of watching eyes.

After all, one is a Crown Prince and the other a General. No one knows about the intensity in Yuta’s eyes when he looked at him. No one understands the gentle gestures whenever he coddled Jaehyun, pressing kisses onto the crown of his head. They were in love, unknowingly walking hand in hand together towards the edge.

For once, Jaehyun feels naive and irrevocably foolish.

In order to forget, he leaves through the palace gates more and more often until the servants themselves have not spotted his shadow days on end. Against his expectations, the Emperor pretends to not have noticed this sudden change—that or he is being more lenient than usual to not arouse another similar incident like before. And like that, another storm arrives.  
  


☆

“Young master! Young master!”

At the familiar voice, Jaehyun looks down to see two tiny, scrawny fists grabbing his robes tightly. He follows the thin arms barely covered by dirty homemade clothes to meet a pair of azure blue eyes. Behind him, ten carriages filled with rations and fabrics are being loaded off and prepared to be divided to the villagers. Around him, people are flocking around to witness the Crown Prince. This time, the animosity is significantly less, replaced by a curiosity that shines in those tired, upset eyes. However, no one wants to be the first one to ask the question.

Jaehyun bends down to the little boy’s eye level while wearing a smile. “Isn’t this our cute Yiseul?”

In his peripheral vision, a figure approaches in a haste with fear in her eyes. She hisses, “Yiseul, come here. That person isn’t someone you can—”

At a slight shake of the head coming from Jaehyun, the mother hesitates before she leaves to help out the others. Yiseul laughs—a gleeful melody that reminds of the already gone summer—and Jaehyun joins in, picking him up and twirling him around.

For these past weeks, Jaehyun has been stopping by several villages in order to give out food to the common people and help out with whatever he is able to, whether it be fixing a dilapidated roof or carrying woods. In the beginning, as expected, he was met with skepticism and following eyes suspiciously questioning his motive, his every move. Neither explaining himself nor asking for anything in return, the Crown Prince has driven himself into a work frenzy and slowly, everyone has started to relax around him.

The little ones who are yet too young to comprehend the significance of the figure clad in white robes in front of them like him a lot. In their eyes, he is a young lord with a kind face who plays with them. Jaehyun finds out that the naive glimmer in their eyes makes him stay level-headed, hopeful for a future. It is heartening to have the knowledge that even if no one is here to accompany him once night falls, there are people out there who are able to live another better day because of him.

That is what he should be doing. That is his purpose as the Crown Prince.

Across the carriage, Jaehyun coincidentally makes eye contact with an eunuch who is busy wiping off sweat from his temple at the same time as he hands out rations to the line of villagers. The old man smiles—a gentle one—and Jaehyun’s heart warms.

“Your Highness,” the eunuch had asked him by the main gate when Jaehyun left the palace for the first time after Yuta’s death. Back then, perhaps, the old man had been stunned by the firm resolution in the Crown Prince’s eyes. “May I ask why you have decided to do this?”

And Jaehyun, he remembers himself dashing with his eyes across the border between the palace and outside. There, under the huge gate where hundreds of people enter and exit everyday, he was reminiscing about the bloodied man carrying a child in his arms during that spring; the one glance that had changed his everything. The bravery and righteousness that were Yuta that day, Jaehyun never forgot even one second of it.

Therefore, he had answered. “I have to protect them. I have to do what I can to make up for what he won’t be able to do anymore. He has always protected them, protected this kingdom.” He pauses, seemingly finding his words. “I may have lost him, but for them, they have lost a hero who stood with them even in the toughest moments. They have lost their greatest hope and it was all because of me.”

“Why do you say that it was because of you, your Highness?”

The eunuch had received no answer in return. A silence bounced back, amplified in the sudden void coloring the Crown Prince’s eyes dark.

Back then, they understood well that what they did was a truth that could never see the light; therefore, they exchanged no promises and shared no rings. They only knew how to love, only knew how to hold onto one another as if they were each other’s most valuable treasure. So once Yuta left him, Jaehyun did not know how to remember him. This—he had found out—is the only way for the longing to pause for a moment. Walking the same path Yuta had walked, passing by the same faces Yuta had seen and living the life that Yuta had lived, there is nothing more painful and at the same time more comforting than that.

“Young master, do you know who Yuta-hyung is?”

Jaehyun startles, shocked expression reflected in the little boy’s clear, innocent eyes. His lips quiver.

“Yes, I do,” he answers after a minute too long, yet carrying the boy in his arms. “Do you also know him?”

Yiseul shrugs, sucking on the candy given to him. “He used to come here, not very often but I remember him. He used to help my family and the others too, like you.”

Lost in his own thoughts, Jaehyun reminisces about an armor clad man standing under the sunshine, slowly turning towards him with the brightest of smile. In his memories, the man dons a ponytail and the black sword is his inseparable companion.

There, with the sun as witness, Yuta is the most beautiful. He is dazzling. It feels strangely warm, not because it is summer in that particular memory but because Jaehyun is not quick enough to catch all the affection pouring from Yuta’s hazel eyes.

Those, him, that one moment—Jaehyun wants to do everything not to forget.  
  


☆

For three days straight, the sight of the Crown Prince kneeling by himself in front of the inner court becomes ingrained in everyone’s mind. It turns into a topic fervently discussed throughout the whole palace.

Fuxing hurries past across the massive yard, a bamboo basket filled with vegetables full in his embrace at the same time as he tries to juggle another bag of hay. As usual, because he cannot help it, he chances a glance towards the middle of the vast space and he is not surprised to see the familiar figure dressed in white, not moving an inch the last time he saw him.

It is difficult to ignore such a pitiful presence, let alone when that individual is none other than the Crown Prince. However, the warning look he had received from the head kitchen maid the very first time he had witnessed the shocking sight told him enough.

This is not something for him—for anyone—to meddle in.

For three days straight, the Emperor had gone through his days like any others as if there exists no one kneeling right in front of the inner court begging for something unattainable. Fuxing may not have heard it from the Crown Prince directly but he have gathered enough rumors to understand the gist of it. It seems as though almost everyone agrees on the same thing—this is a conflict surrounding the former First General. Three days ago, servants had seen the Crown Prince hurrying back from outside after hearing the news regarding the Emperor’s decision and proceeding to kneel here immediately the moment his feet reached the palace ground.

No one knows why the Crown Prince seems to be protecting someone no longer part of this world nor do they understand why the look the Emperor occasionally throws at his own son whenever he has to pass through the courtyard is always one in disdain and never, never concerned.

On the first day, it had rained throughout the night, a shower holding no mercy for the ones who could not rest in peace as well as the ones who could not run to seek shelter. That night, Fuxing had laid on his shabby wooden bed, covered by a flimsy straw mat, and stared at the dripping ceiling until the sun rose. He had thought about the figure in white inner robes out there, completely drenched in the pouring rain, and it had kept him awake during the most ungodly hours.

When the third day is almost gone, an evening wind arrives with the promise of a freezing night ahead. The Crown Prince’s unruffled hair flies violently in the harsh breeze.

Unable to stand by and watch anymore, Fuxing walks up to him, wrapping a newly washed outer coat over the prince’s shoulders—the one he had secretly stolen from a drying line. There are a million reasons why he cannot and should not help him and one reason why he should, and for Fuxing, it was enough.

The Crown Prince seems startled for a moment, something akin to hopeful shock sparkling in his gaze until it turns dim, turns dark, drifting away in the fading dusk sun. Fuxing has an inkling whom the other was expecting and his chest aches in unspoken apology.

“Thank you.”

It is the first time Fuxing has had the honor to speak to the prince at such a close distance. The Crown Prince’s voice is mismatched. A rough, raspy tone owing to the immense hunger and thirst contrasts the soft, beautiful features running across his eyebrows, along the slope of his nose and over his lips. Once the expectant light in his eyes go out, his face resumes its cold demeanor.

Fuxing should be worried but he thinks he can see a certain determination refusing to die in the depth of that gaze and immediately, he is a little more at ease.

“Your Highness,” Fuxing starts but stops himself. He has nothing to say. It is neither his place to convince the other to give up nor to convince the other to hold on. “Are you alright?”

There is a sharp inhale, the prince’s shoulders turned rigid. When Fuxing finds the courage to look down, the Crown Prince is staring at him with a smile.

“Thank you,” the Crown Prince repeats, eyes drowned in sorrow. His lips quiver in an attempt to maintain the smile although he himself is on the verge of breaking apart. Fuxing wonders whether the Crown Prince has always been this self-negligent. “I’m okay. There’s no need to worry about me. You can go now.”

But Fuxing stays. He finds out that in the flicker of undeniable loss blooming on the Crown Prince’s face, it tells him that this person is best not left alone ever again.

When the Crown Prince notices that the other has no plans to go away, Fuxing thinks he can see some of the rigidness in his shoulders fade away, its edges turned blunt. On the other hand, in his eyes, there is a violent storm brewing, brutal enough to knock sails over at the speed of light and strong enough to render the harsh wind blowing at them right now into a meek light passing breeze. At the same time, it is sadness. The Crown Prince, he looks forlorn, even at the most brief of look.

“You know,” In the quiet ambient, sunken down into rocky bottoms, the Crown Prince suddenly speaks, startling Fuxing mid-reverie. “The First General was the most righteous person I’ve ever known. He wouldn’t have ever agreed to go to war for no justifiable reasons but this time, he betrayed his belief for me. Can you believe it? For me. Who am I even? I’m a useless Crown Prince who can do nothing but kneel here to beg the Emperor one more time. That’s all there is to me. He wasted his life, the years he could have spent in honor and fame, on me.”

The wave rising in his gaze crashes against shore, drowning everything in its sight.

“He’s an idiot. The thing called love isn’t that incredible, so why is he being so stupid? Does he think love can help him become god? He’s such a fool, the worst fool I know.”

Whether it be because of a wind gust rushing by or because of fright, Fuxing jostles, something cold running down his spine. In the approaching darkness, out in the middle of an empty courtyard, the Crown Prince is crying, his shoulders quivering in minuscule movements. The Crown Prince is crying and although he is cursing the First General in many ways possible, his face speaks otherwise.

The Crown Prince is crying, because he is in love with the former First General.

And although Fuxing has been listening to the rumors and is more or less expecting it, the truth once faced is numbing. He looks down onto the other and wonders why the usually broad and high shoulders seem especially delicate and fragile today.

On the fourth morning, the balance tips. Something shatters.

Fuxing hides himself behind a pillar from afar, too scared to approach but too afraid to leave the Crown Prince by himself. He watches the Emperor walk down the stairs from the inner court down the long path until he reaches the prince. The man’s gaze is frost, lasting for three lifetimes. In the near distance, several ministers clad in red stop in the passing to bow in respect but once that is done, they do not walk away from there.

“Stop this childish behavior, Crown Prince.”

The Emperor’s vehement voice becomes fuel for the fire growing in the Crown Prince’s eyes. Despite the exhausted demeanor, there is no mistaking the fury that the prince does not bother hiding.

“Your Majesty,” the Crown Prince says with a steadier voice than Fuxing has expected, gaze locked with the Emperor, one that is overflowing with defiance. He forgoes the bow, ignores the formality. The one sign that gives him away is the way his fingers grip his wrinkled robes with outmost strength. “Why are you refusing to give First General a proper burial?”

In the corners of his eyes, Fuxing sees the royal ministers glance at one another with shared looks conveying endless curiosity. A few of them seem surprised; others look almost pleased. Without a doubt, some of them must have had a say in this matter. It would have otherwise been difficult for the Emperor to make such a decision by himself, not without support behind him, support coming from the ones who had never really appreciated the First General’s abilities and achievements in the first place.

Jealousy is indeed a frightful thing, even capable of making the most cunning individuals collude together. It is shameful, Fuxing thinks, that such an accomplished man like the First General had had the rough fortune to be involved in this corrupted scheming.

When the Emperor answers, his face is as passive as ever. “The First General may have done unfathomable deeds for the sake of our kingdom’s prosperity and protected this kingdom from numerous conflicts and chaos. However, he and the Empress secretly colluded behind my back for a long time. To top it off, he even dared to accuse me of corruption. A deceptive, fraudful individual who has committed treason is ought to be left to rot in the wilds. That way, his soul shall never be reincarnated.”

“Your Majesty!!!” The Crown Prince roars. His raised voice shocks everyone nearby into a deafening silence. From where he stands, Fuxing sees the Crown Prince’s whites turn red. “On what basis do you accuse him of treason? I knew him but you didn’t. He had never even dreamt of the throne. Yuta wasn’t that kind of person.”

The Crown Prince is answered by a haughty scoff coming from above him. He looks up to see dark pupils staring down on him.

“Treason may have been a mere presumption,” the Emperor shrugs, indifference redundant. “But is there anyone amongst us who can say for sure that he wasn’t planning to overthrow me? First General commanded the royal army which gave him enough power to do so. Crown Prince, I’m sure you didn’t know him better than I did my own general.

He was a thorn to me, if only. Such thorns are to be plucked before they can prick you. You say he was never ambitious but he may very well become greedy later on, who knows. We cannot predict life. Moreover, someone who isn’t ambitious couldn’t possibly have made it as far as he did. He had goals. He made it this far because of them.”

The Crown Prince closes his eyes, inhales and then, he exhales. The next time he opens them, Fuxing startles at the obvious change, an evident glint shining with pure determination.

“You’re wrong,” he begins. “I knew him better than anyone did and I can say for sure that he wasn’t planning anything. Did you ever entertain any other possibilities as to why he knew about your longtime corruption with the Kingdom of Fengzi? You kept thinking, from the start, that it was because the Empress told on you but you never once thought differently, never once tried to see it in another light. See, Your Majesty, you are wrong. I knew about your corruption from the beginning, from the moment you started to collude with Fengzi’s Emperor. I was the one who told him about it. That was simply my fault.”

Suppressed anger gives rise to a myriad of emotions flashing across the Emperor’s face but he is quick to press them back under surface. Through gritted teeth and a stale smile, he says, “I never had the impression that you two were that close.”

The Crown Prince holds a wicked smile when he answers. “Oh, we were close. You said I didn’t know him? No, I knew Yuta very well, because the one whom he frequently bedded was none other than me.”

At once, an eerie silence hangs, loaded with a thick tension that a pin drop could shatter completely. Fuxing sees the miniscule change in the Emperor’s eyes when realization dawns, the way the rage crawls from his gaze down to his fingers as he curls them into fists.

“You’re lying,” he manages out heavily after a while. “You’re lying to protect your mother and to protect him.”

“That, I’m not going to refute. Yes, I’m protecting the ones I love, but I was never lying. I was in love with him and he was in love with me, too. We loved each other. We made love in my bedchamber, so of course, how could you know? Perhaps if you interrogate my chambermaids, then you’d find out why the First General made constant visits—”

“Enough!!!” The Emperor bellows, face red, throwing one arm behind his back and taking a step further away. He seems to be at a loss for words. Even that makes the smile on the Crown Prince’s face grow more twisted, more laden with madness, enhanced by overwhelming despair.

The ministers who happen to be nearby and having heard everything are completely flustered, not knowing how to react as not to offend both parties at the same time.

“So, Your Majesty,” The Crown Prince continues nonetheless. “I beg you to reconsider your decision and provide First General a proper burial. He hadn’t committed treason and I can vouch for his innocence with my title as guarantee. That’s all I’m asking for. I’m willing to accept any punishment bestowed on me but you are not allowed to harm him again. He was my lover.”

Firm words; equally firm eyes. The Emperor may be an immovable figure which has enabled him to raise Jingqi to wealth and prosperity, but he may have forgotten that half of the blood flowing in the Crown Prince’s veins belongs to him. Perhaps he has also forgotten, that the years he has spent steadfastly ignoring his own son’s existence have molded the Crown Prince into someone who is so similar to him and yet, so, so different.

The prince is yet staring, eyes sharp enough to pierce through the heavens.

“I’ll protect him, as much as he had protected me.”

The Emperor leaves in a whirlwind of scattered dust, running away from the storm roaring behind him. When the man completely disappears, golden robes out of sight, the Crown Prince finally gives a bow to no one in particular and with shaky legs, he tries to stand up. Immediately, he falls back down; however, instead of being upset, he is smiling. And yet, Fuxing’s heart drops.

In this life, Fuxing will probably never understand how someone can smile when such a hollowness echoes in those empty eyes and there is nothing akin to happiness on their face.  
  


☆

The issue is soon forgotten.

No one wants to remember someone who has been abandoned by his own kingdom although only a few days ago they were praising him for his heroic death, although that same person had waged his life on the line for them countless times before and they all know that fact.

Each time Jaehyun helplessly tries to measure the amount of blood Yuta had spilled for Jingqi so it could remain this prosperous and blooming until this day, he only hates the fact that he cannot demand them to return it. He cannot make them give Yuta back everything they own him because when it comes down to blood debts, he knows that he owns the most out of them. If it is Yuta, then Jaehyun may need to devote one lifetime to see everything Yuta had done for him paid for in full interest.

Before he knows it, another greater matter has come to wreck havoc.

The familiar room Jaehyun grew up in is swapped to a stone roof dripping with cold, filthy water. Behind him, the rotten old hay gives out a foul stench that is overwhelming in the cramped space. Jaehyun sits in patience with his legs crossed, his usually clean, dark blue robes turned dirty from touching the wet ground, lower hem a brown-stained golden. His face shows no signs of resignation. It has remained that way ever since he was thrown in here.

For him, it no longer matters.

In life or in death, whether he is mediating in paradise or burning in hell, he finds out that he does not mind. Outside past the wooden bars that enshroud the cell, a torch flame flickers, culminating once in a while before dimming into an obscure shine again. He has been reduced to nothing but a prisoner, trapped in a cell too narrow and worn-down for someone who holds the great title Crown Prince. In here, there is neither morning nor night. Time does not flow down here. Time is a long forgotten belief for him.

He has not seen the sun for days. He thinks he has forgotten what it feels like to stand under the majesticity of it with its great warmth enveloping him. Thinking about it makes the coldness down here a lot worse, turned into a chill that creeps under his skin and makes him shiver from the harsh cold bite. During these times, his mind continuously wanders back to that one figure who is familiar at the slightest glance. If he was here, his profound gaze alone would have been enough warmth. His eyes may have been a frosty hazel, but his touch was not.

It was a gentleness that lingered on his skin, haunting him alive.

Perhaps, what awaits him is an approaching death. If so, it is unavoidable as much as it is expected but somehow, the foolish voice inside him had been wishing that it would not dwindle down into such a situation.

Jaehyun’s mind keeps thinking back to the moment when the royal guards had supposedly discovered a forbidden book in his study. In there, they found several notes and scribbles that reveal his secret intentions to dethrone the Emperor and take over as ruler. Jaehyun had not even touched his book shelf for months, leaving it to collect dust by itself and yet, when he had followed the guards there for inspection, there was not one speck of dirt even in the deepest corner. Ingrained in his memories is the immaculately clean rows of scrolls and books that made it seem like someone had been rooting there without his knowledge and amongst them, an evidence with the sole purpose to tarnish.

Everything had proceeded quite smoothly. It was frightening—the fact that such an elaborate ploy could only be played out by someone rather cunning. Someone like the almighty figure clad in golden robes and a _mian_ made of rubies.

He had laughed right then and there, sunken onto his knees as the guards held his arms behind his back. It was a laughter in delirion, realization and surrender. Everyone on the way had stared at him with something akin to badly concealed shock when he was dragged past them. In their eyes, the prominent Crown Prince had fallen down to rock bottom, blackened by his own ambitions.

Jaehyun refuses to eat, his skin growing gaunt, sunken by the days and his throat parsed. He spends most of his time observing the torch on the stone wall outside the prison cell. He thinks that once the flame gets blown out, perhaps then he would be able to fall asleep. And so, under the time the fire burns on, Jaehyun does not close his eyes.

But, in a reverie, Yuta returns to him.

It is the same dream from before. Jaehyun stands amidst the fog, crying out towards someone whose gaze has wandered and lost its way. The details that have changed, they scare him. Yuta’s armor is dyed fully in crimson this time, its silver gleam barely visible underneath. The tulip in his hand has reached its end, petals gradually turning ashen until one of it wilts from the flower, disappearing into the mist.

When Jaehyun startles awake in the cold prison, it is unusually dark. It seems like the torch had been extinguished by a sudden gust of wind for a while and now, Jaehyun is shivering again. With a sigh, he remains wide awake for the rest of the day even when the fire is sleeping.  
S.

In this hellhole, the Emperor is a completely bizarre sight. The gleam coming from his embroidered robe is reflected in four directions—a bleak jaundice that stands out like a sore thumb. His shining hat is as ever conspicuous to the eyes. All Jaehyun notices, however, is the crude hostility in his eyes that has not subsided ever since that day in front of the inner court.

“Your Majesty,” he croaks out with difficulty, for it is hard for him to even form proper thoughts in this worn-out state. “Have you ordered for the First General to be buried?”

In the faint light maintained by a sole torch, the Emperor’s phoenix eyes are tearing Jaehyun apart.

“It was never a request,” Jaehyun continues. “It was an obligation.”

Jaehyun means each and every word. As expected, the Emperor’s harsh gaze freezes, ice cracking dangerously across surface. The man scoffs in disdain, voice dripping with contempt.

“Why should I be obliged to give a proper burial to a revolting cut-sleeve like him? Even moreso, why should I, as the ruler of this kingdom, listen to you?”

The Emperor does not need to say that twice. Jaehyun is to never forget who is the one with power between the two of them.

It hurts to hear that Yuta has yet to be put to rest properly. Jaehyun has, after all, been a Crown Prince once. No matter how many crimes he commits, no matter how he dies, he would definitely be buried according to customs and traditions. But this kingdom had abandoned its First General, who had got no powerful family to back him up.

For once, Jaehyun despises the privileges he was born with.

“Yuta was more than just a revolting cut-sleeve,” he grits out. “He was the First General, which means that he deserves respect even in death. He had helped the common people and fought for this kingdom. He even had a say in matters not involving the military. Yuta lived for Jingqi. He soiled both his hands bloody so that you could peacefully sit on that forsaken throne of yours. Why can’t he receive one ounce of gratefulness back?”

“And you’re wrong,” Jaehyun continues. His ribcage barely moves which makes it even more difficult to breathe. “It wasn’t me. That book wasn’t me and you know that. I have never wanted the throne. I was never ambitious even as a Crown Prince. There was only one thing I wanted my whole life and—and it was him.”

Lightning strikes in the standing man’s eyes, splitting everything into halves. There is no mistaking the disgust rolling off him in steady waves.

“Absolutely abhorrent, both of you. I cannot fathom that I raised a useless, filthy failure like you as my child.”

Blood trickles down his palm where Jaehyun digs his nails into the sensitive skin, hard enough for it to tear. With a crestfallen laugh resembling that of a man descending into madness, Jaehyun snaps his eyes open to stare at the Emperor. And then, he yells despite his awfully dry throat, “Don’t be mistaken. You’ve never raised me, not even once. No father would set his own son up for treason and have him be executed.”

“You—”

“You may be the Emperor of this kingdom,” Jaehyun says, eyes glowing with a will to stare at death and walk backwards away from hell. “But you have and never will be my father.”

Neither of them speaks for a while, opting to glare at one another with sheer hatred lingering in the steadfastly growing abyss that holds them apart.

“You have a lot to say for someone who is about to die. Let’s see if you can keep the same energy on your death day.”

With that, the Emperor flicks his sleeve and turns to walk out of there. Scrambling up to grab at the wooden bars, Jaehyun flinches the moment his bleeding palm comes into contact with cold wood. He holds the pain in, using the very last of his strength for one last question.

“Tell me, your Majesty, are you the one behind the assassination of the Empress?”

The man pauses in his steps, shoulders suddenly turned rigid. When he angles his head back slightly to look at Jaehyun, Jaehyun thinks he can see something startled in those eyes barely reflected in the dim light. From beneath the surface, a truth that is bright as the day has unraveled itself. It makes him feel like a fool for not even having suspected it earlier.

“Tell me,” Jaehyun screams, the agony in his voice echoing down the dark, empty prison. “Did you kill my mother? Did you harm her so that you could get an excuse to attack Longan? Did you harm her so that you could have a reason to send Yuta to his death? Answer me!!!”

The Emperor keeps his quiet, but the look Jaehyun receives tells him enough. When another incense has passed, the man is long gone with his head held high as ever and his steps unwavering.

Jaehyun leans against the wooden bars and cries until he sinks back into the darkness.  
  


☆

The Crown Prince is executed two weeks after his confinement.

Right in front of the royal execution ground is the throne reserved for the Emperor. It is cruel. It is absolutely, utterly ruthless but Jaehyun is unable to feel anything else other than a dull sorrow dimming.

When the drum gongs once, the executioner has the rope hung around his throat. During this, Jaehyun keeps staring at the Emperor in front of him but with a gaze refusing to beg. In his heart, the hatred is slowly dwindling into nothingness, instead giving place for sheer pity to take root. Jaehyun genuinely wishes that the Emperor stays on the throne for a very, very long time, enough to experience the eternal loneliness of a life blinded by greed.

Long enough for him to regret but not long enough for him to repent.

And then, the drum sounds a second time. Following this, the platform drops and Jaehyun’s feet no longer touch ground, dangling in mid air.

Amidst the harsh whirring of the wind, Jaehyun thinks he hears a voice cry out. Its ceaseless sobs are heartbreaking, calling out to him, yelling his name in great despair.

It is too late.

Above him, the sky is thick with clouds and somewhere in the distance, thunder rages.

_Are you here, Yuta? Are you here to accompany me? I miss you so much. My only regret in this life is that I couldn’t tell you that I love you, that I couldn’t hold you one last time before you were gone. I’m so sorry, love. I hope that you could forgive me._

Perhaps one thing he was able to leave behind in this mortal world is a strange life story that will be recorded in history. He shall become the Crown Prince who had loved another man and whose death was ordered by his own father.

And legend says that the Crown Prince dies with a stray tear running down one cheek together with a soft smile blooming on his lips. From that day onwards, it rains for seven nights straight, as if even the heavens are mourning the sorrowful death of that young man.

☆

_**Seoul, 2020** _

Sometimes, Jaehyun dreams of a flickering torch flame. In the background, the sound of water dripping incessantly bounces off the cramped space. It is always a dream associated with immense agony and remorse, choking him awake.

Other times, he stands surrounded in mist and all he sees, stretching beyond where his eyes can reach, is blood. There is a dark figure walking towards him from behind the thick layer of white smoke, but every time before Jaehyun can see their face properly, he is pulled back into an abyss, black diffusing until his vision turns blurred. The dream easily fades away, leaving behind a time that drifts, and a voice reverberates in the darkness. It is his voice; he is crying. Jaehyun recognizes himself, but not these cries.

Before he figures out anything, he is drawn out from the nightmare once again. It is never morning when he wakes, but Jaehyun does not think he can go back to sleep. So, each time without fail, he lies back down and stares at the ceiling until his thoughts turn deafening.

This particular morning brings with it an impatient ring coming from his phone—one that refuses to cease. The moment Jaehyun answers the call, his mood darkens significantly.

“Father,” he greets.

In his mind, he sees a man, features bearing slight resemblance to his yet a lot older and a little more rough. In the image he conjures up, the man stands high and proud with shoulders broad. His stern eyes sweep over him and then past him. There is never a hint of satisfaction and always an indifference that scorches.

The silence that ensues before his father speaks up on the other side blazes with intention. “Have you forgotten that you even have a father? Why don’t you ever come home?”

Involularity, Jaehyun flinches. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve been busy at work.”

His father scoffs, tone angry. “Work? It’s always the same excuse, isn’t it? You’re so great, leeching off me until you’re old enough to turn your back on me and then you’re off, not even so much as a thank you in return. Not even an ounce of filiality left.”

Jaehyun grips his blanket tighter, grips it hard until his hand is shaking and his knuckles are pale as paper. His eyes bore holes into the innocent wall, teeth biting his lower lip in an attempt not to run his mouth. Unfortunately, it does not work.

“My mother raised me, you never did. When she passed away, I simply left home because I no longer had someone to raise me and because I no longer needed someone to do that anymore.”

That is one reason. He also could not bear staying in the same space where his mother had lived, remembering fragments of her in every crook and every corner; a silhouette that faded away into the wallpaper if he looked at it, a gentle voice that diffused into nothingness if he even tried to listen. When Jaehyun simply thought that he had been sad for too long, he had silently packed his bags and left the house for the very last time, not once throwing a look back over his shoulder.

A loud slam resonates in the static crackle. Jaehyun does not jump because he is too used to it but his heart gets stuck in his throat nevertheless, words gathered together in there.

“You—” his father forces out, words poisonous. His voice grows deeper and Jaehyun can only start to imagine the fury blossoming on his face. “You should be grateful and yet, you treat your own father like dust.”

“You’re not my father,” Jaehyun counters at once, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and standing up. “It's true that if not for you, I wouldn’t have been born, but you’re not my father. I’m old enough to understand that.”

He opens his wardrobe, quickly picking out an outfit that is decent enough. He is not one to work out in the morning, but he figures that a promenade is much needed right now.

Growing up, Jaehyun used to be envious of his classmates whose fathers frequently picked them up from school. He used to ask his mother why his father was never home and why whenever he did, he sparsely glanced at his own son. Jaehyun does not remember her answer because it has been too long ago, far too long for him to hold onto such wistful longing, but her forlorn eyes shone in his oldest memories.

When he became older, he realized that certain marriages are not founded on love but more often on mutual tolerance, mutual benefits or simply that they were arranged beforehand. One thing he could not figure out, however, was why his mother had chosen his father or why she had willingly walked into this life.

His mother was always thankful that he grew up to be such a cheerful, lovely kid despite being raised around a loveless pair of parents and it broke his heart each time even without him knowing why. If he could turn back time, he wishes to tell her that it was only thanks to her unconditional determination to raise him into a good person that he was able to bloom beautifully even in a place where light did not reach.

Jaehyun would not refuse true love if it ever comes to him but he thinks he somewhat understands the root of his scepticism towards it.

“I regret ever giving you a roof over your head these years,” his father replies earnestly. Something breaks inside Jaehyun and suddenly, he feels like a primary school kid again, eyes naive and with a heart always wanting to believe. “You bring nothing but shame to this family.”

 _Family?_ Which part of it is left that could be called a family?

“I’m not going to change anything about myself no matter what you say.” Jaehyun shakes his head, fully aware that his father cannot see him, and pulls on a sweatshirt over his head. “What did you call me for?”

There is a long inhale on the other side and then nothing more follows for a long minute. When his father finally gives his answer, it is one filled with authority and demand.

“Your mother’s case. Close it.”

Jaehyun forms his lips into a thin line, one hand hovering over the last button of his outer coat. They have had this conversation numerous times and his answer is to remain the same no matter what.

“No.”

“Don’t you get it—”

“No,” Jaehyun interrupts firmly. “I don't get it. I don’t understand the discrepancies. So, until the statue of limitation has passed, I’m not giving up on my own mother.”

“Don’t be stubborn,” his father hisses. “It was an accident. I’ve already signed under the agreement to close the case. Your signature is the last thing needed and after that, we both can move on.”

Jaehyun reaches out a hand to pull apart the kitchen curtains. With sunlight filtering in through the window, the room is doused in a hint of livelihood instead of the darkness that it had been bathing in for hours on end. He turns on the coffee brewer and exits the kitchen, heading towards the hallway.

“Whether it was an accident or not, the detective in charge will let me know by the end of the investigation.”

“And how long do you expect it to take? One year, two? It’s already been over two months already and yet no progress. Most police officers and detectives agreed that it was most likely an accident.”

“Mother—” Jaehyun raises his voice, surprising even himself. It seems as if he was about to say something else but in the last second, he decides against it. His shoulders deflate and he proceeds to slip his feet into a pair of worn out sneakers. “There were no signs of struggle on her body which is unusual in such a situation, and with that, there are only two possible options.”

The darkness that envelops him in the hallway is strangely comforting. Jaehyun is reminded of the faint dream from last night but it is fragments blown away, forgotten throughout the space of time.

He continues, enunciating each word. “One, she was attacked from behind, but the angle of the wounds suggest an attack from the front. Or two…”

His hand curls around the door handle, metal frozen against heated skin. With a heavy sigh, he opens the door, stepping out into the dimly lit corridor. The apartment complex is quiet this early in the morning.

“...she knew the perpetrator and completely put her guard down, which would explain why she was given no time to fight back.”

His father sounds harsh. “Are you trying to imply something?”

One breathy laughter follows. It is light, but underneath, a heavy current flows.

“You think so?” is what Jaehyun says in return.

He offers nothing more. Perhaps, he does not need to. His father does not say anything either and the silence this time around feels quite unnerving, like a glass about to be tipped over the edge.

“Jaehyun, stop dwelling on the past,” his father finally exhales.

Jaehyun scoffs under his breath. “I’m living in the present,” he answers, voice louder than he had expected. There is a hint of anger, bursting at its seams. “But, I’m going to see this until the end.”

Their conversation ends with no closure offered. The simmering rage feeds the infinite void growing within him and Jaehyun falls into it without knowing where it ends. He can only heave yet another sigh that bounces off the wall, sorrow and anguish dispersing against dried paint.

The moment Jaehyun turns, about to head towards the stairs, his heart jumps out of his chest.

Hazel eyes, vibrant in the faint brightness, meet his from across the corridor. They have been watching him for who knows how long. This person has not even bothered to make a sound to indicate his presence under the time Jaehyun had been standing outside his own door, thinking he was alone. With one hand tightening around his phone, Jaehyun swallows, trying to discern the man’s appearance but the lack of lighting hinders him. All he can see is that the stranger is wholly clad in black, his choice of color making him almost melt into the darkness at the end of the corridor.

“Hello,” Jaehyun says, loudly enough for his voice to be carried to the other. “I don’t believe we’ve met before. I moved in two weeks ago.”

There is no answer; only eyes staring at him with no intention of looking away. The man starts moving, slow, leisure steps bringing him towards Jaehyun. The closer he comes, the sharper his features become.

Under the obscure fluorescence, Jaehyun’s gaze wanders from the black strands of unruffled hair down his long eyelashes, from the slope of his nose to his lips. The light casts a golden glow across his pale face in the close proximity, turning his eyes a shade of dark amber. He looks enticing—a divine.

The stranger stops right in front of him with his eyes kept on him. Not once has he looked away. Jaehyun’s scalp tingles, fingers turned numb from the intensity. He manages a weak smile that slightly quivers at the corners and holds out a hand.

“I’m Jaehyun,” he says.

A hand flies out, movement too sudden and quick for Jaehyun to react to. Firstly, he feels a frosty sensation around his hand—a firm grip. It is currently late summer, but this person brings with him winter. In the next second, Jaehyun is engulfed in an embrace with their two chests pressed against one another. The stranger winds his arms around him, face buried into the angle between his neck and shoulder.

Jaehyun inhales in shock only for the stranger to tighten his hold. The soft scent of lavender fills his senses. It is both familiar and nostalgic. This time, longing spills out from between the space no longer left between them.

“Jaehyun,” the man whispers, voice dejected and yet, hopeful. It is relief as much as it is pain. It is joy blended with torment. The man says his name like it is his last straw of sanity.

Hundreds of years are an eternity for someone who was left behind and a blink of an eye for someone who had departed without looking back. Perhaps, the only thing that remains, the only thing savored across the stretch of time between this life and the previous one is the memories—a scorching heat that burns ceaselessly.

Jaehyun leans back, takes a good look at the face of the one in front of him. His gaze flickers between the numerous emotions exploding behind the cloudy veil in those eyes and the way his colorless skin explains why his touch is a coldness that seeps deep into bones. There is no heartbeat where Jaehyun’s hand presses onto his chest. An evident lack of a familiar rhythm, unable to be hidden beneath the thin layer of a shirt.

Yet, Jaehyun does not ask. Instead, he lets his shaky fingers move up until they cup the other’s cheek, his own breath stuttering. Somewhere under the long seconds of the embrace, a name had floated up to him from under the surface. He knows, without a doubt, whose it is.

“Yuta.”

Even in the faint light, Yuta’s eyes burn bright. They illuminate a time lost to fate, revealing a determination to trample the heavens and defy hell. With his beloved in his arms, Yuta’s gaze is no longer wandering, anchored to someone who grounds him so.

Once again, they have found one another. This time around, neither of them really wants to let go.

**PART 3. EPILOGUE**

_Mortals, after death, are able to delay their entering of the cycle of reincarnation for forty-nine days if they were to have any attachments left in the mortal world. During those forty-nine days, their souls are allowed to wander one last time to see their beloved and to do what they never were able to do when alive._

_Not every mortal ends up reincarnating. In certain cases, mortals, who bear an extremely grim hatred left unraveled in this life, are able to refute their own reincarnation and remain in the mortal world even after their forty-nine days are up. They shall be turned into a corpse with neither a soul nor a heart, blessed and cursed with an immortality that lasts for an infinity._

Yuta had, once upon a time, been a mortal and then, he was no more.

Stuck somewhere between living and dead and yet neither, he had once been a respected First General, now dwindled down into a breathing, soulless corpse with a heart that no longer beat. It felt strangely satisfying to disregard the course of life, to stare at the fate that had doomed him to death in its eyes while walking backwards and away from hell.

Truthfully, even if he had another chance, he would not have made a different choice.

As a child, he had many times wished doom on the Kingdom of Jingqi, for abandoning its worse-off inhabitants who had fallen into poverty and the inhabitants who lived day by day not knowing if it was their last. Life was terribly difficult, the winter freezing and the summer scorching, and food was scarce. He was raised on hatred and resentment for the royalty who idly sat day in day out on their throne, enjoying a waste of food and wine that could prolong the numerous lives of the weaker, older ones in his village for one more day. He had thought countless times that if there ever came a time where this forsaken kingdom were to fall into ruins, then he would not deny himself the pleasure of watching as the last of it burned down to blackened ashes.

That was how he made it through the tough childhood.

Then, as a youth who was standing on the brink of adulthood but with a childlike naivety yet there in those eyes, Yuta had casted his lifelong grudge into the abyss, blindly following a dazzling smile that entranced him so. The Crown Prince had had the luck to be born into a luxurious life, never having experienced starvation during his whole existence. However, the way that very same young prince had bent down with one knee digging into the snow and, without an ounce of reluctance, draped his outer robe over Yuta’s shivering frame, that one action was a light, passing breeze but nonetheless, it was strong enough to knock over the bitterness that had accumulated over the years. Yuta thought that he was willing to protect this damned country, if it also meant that he could protect the boy’s unfaltering smile a little longer.

It was funny how he, in the end, went back to where he had started, extinguished hope replaced by madness. This time, his hatred burned a fiery red that bleeds through skin and seeps into bones. It was no longer about the ignorance he had received from this kingdom as a little child, because after all, he survived even through the most harsh seasons and lived to make a name on his own.

No, it was not that.

It was the forlorn look in Jaehyun’s eyes before he had closed them for the very last time, pain and agony flaring. And then, a flicker of a gentle, forgiving smile that had stung worse than any tears, any cries could. It was the ruthlessness of an Emperor that had blinded his own eyes and mercilessly killed off Yuta’s love. And although at the very end, Jaehyun was no longer a prince in title, for Yuta, Jaehyun was the sole person whom he would ever come to bow at his feet. Jaehyun may have lost his crown, but Yuta refuses to serve royalty, he only wishes to serve him.

At the Crown Prince’s execution, Yuta was there, an invisible soul crying out to his prince who could not answer. Jaehyun’s last words were begging for Yuta’s forgiveness, but Yuta wished Jaehyun knew that he had not done anything worth an apology. Everything Yuta did, the life he had sacrificed, he did it for him willingly.

After Jaehyun had drawn his final breath, the world through Yuta’s eyes was dyed a crimson, thunder striking endlessly. The rain that followed for days to come was as merciless as the fate that had fallen upon them. Yuta did not get soaked for he was a mere wandering soul but when he looked on as Jaehyun’s lifeless body became drenched, he willed to die a thousand times as long as Jaehyun could open his eyes again, as long as time rewinded itself, turning back to where it all started to go so wrong.

As a prince, Jaehyun was a man shouldering unspoken responsibilities and a life in solitude. But as a person, Jaehyun was passion, love and kindness. He was humane. Face devoid of resentment, Jaehyun had died and thus, forgiven the life that had treated him with none of the compassion he had shown it. Yuta waited, but Jaehyun’s soul never appeared. It means that he had let go with no attachments left on this world and was already waiting for his turn in the spinning wheel of reincarnation. Left was only Yuta who had remained even after having died in hopes of seeing his beloved one last time before he had to leave this life behind.

Who would have thought that he would come to witness such cruelty with his own eyes?

He stared down at the red tulip in his hand. It had already bloomed and was now a flower that were to never wilt. He thought that it was such a pity that Jaehyun was never able to see this flower in its greatest magnificence and then, he looked up into the murky sky where rain was pouring, his body emitting black fury, an animosity that only knew how to grow stronger.

Jaehyun may have forgiven, but Yuta had not. He did not think he could.

If he were to reincarnate, his memories forever lost to this lifetime, it would make Jaehyun’s death meaningless. It would reduce the pain Jaehyun had gone through into nothing. Yuta did not care if he himself suffered something worse than death itself, but he had vowed to live for one person and he refused to break that genuine promise. Yuta vowed to be there, to see as the last of Jingqi crumbled down into dust.

“I’m sorry,” Yuta had choked out, voice broken into pieces. “Your Highness.”

It was an apology because Yuta knew he could not follow Jaehyun, not yet. He had willed himself to refute the course of fate, willed his soul to anchor itself to the mortal realm, and when he woke up in his own battered body on a barren field scattered with unrecognizable corpses, forty-nine days after his death, Yuta understood what he had become.

And so, he waited.

For a kingdom to fall to its demise—

—and for his loved one to return.

**Author's Note:**

> vocabs  
> 1\. mian: a crown worn by the Emperor in ancient China — [pic](https://xiaoyingpeng.files.wordpress.com/2015/03/01459093.jpg)  
> 2\. cut-sleeve: euphemism for homosexual (the name was derived from an ancient Chinese Emperor whose male lover fell asleep on his sleeve while he needed to go away for a while so he cut his sleeve off instead of waking the other up)  
> 3\. Hanfu: see [this](https://www.dhresource.com/600x600/f2/albu/g6/M01/25/67/rBVaSFt2jKGAWOgEAAAyixfZJNs528.jpg)  
> 4\. Sangfu: mourning clothes, usually white — not what i had in mind but something like [this](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/da/96/d7/da96d7828011cf16380b606ee06133f9.png)??
> 
> thank you for reading! for questions, [cc](https://curiouscat.me/softhuangs)


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